<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Verdant by Rori</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407350">Verdant</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori/pseuds/Rori'>Rori</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Kurosaki Family Feels, Language of Flowers, M/M, Oblivious Kurosaki Ichigo, Pining, Post-Aizen, Sung-Sun is an avid student, Yoruichi is just here for the flytraps, a bit of a slow burn, a bit of worldbuilding on the flower marks, just a bit, loads of flowers, soul marks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:01:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,316</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407350</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori/pseuds/Rori</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was one huge, unofficial rule about gardening: if the flower marks appeared, it meant whatever you were feeling was already there. Of course, it could always be tinted with denial, or totally unconscious, you name it - so whoever made Ichigo feel proud, protective, lucky, and in love was already in his life. </p><p>Except he had no fucking clue who that was.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>303</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm about 37k in at the moment, and it keeps growing. I'll probably add more to the 'verse as I go. </p><p>I tried to explain the flower meanings as much as I could, but if you are curious I mostly used Wikipedia/obvious meanings so we could all be on the same page :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Maybe it means I will never be in love,’ his 11am patient said, intently watching the ceiling rather than meeting his eyes.</p><p>A few seconds before, his gaze had been fixated on the southernmost window, where an array of potted plants where lazily bathing in the late morning sun; and before that, on everything and nothing at all: the dust in the light, the translucent gleam of the green leaves. Maybe the vast wall behind Ichigo that was only bookshelves and a great ode to disorganisation he’d been meaning to sort out for years. But people seemed to find comfort in how human it all made him, that he was disorganised and simple, watering his plants while listening, offering tea when no one else had thought of such a simple, reassuring gesture. </p><p>This particular patient had been through Isshin’s clinic recently, for something heart-related - it was a minor issue, something uncomplicated which Ichigo had purposely decided not to remember. His father, upon examination, had noticed the lush garden growing on this man’s back, and had hastily described it over the phone - moonflowers, what he thought were anemones, as well as ‘something vaguely resembling rue’. </p><p>‘It reflects only what you think is true,’ Ichigo answered, thinking of the wormwood leaves picking out of the man’s collar.</p><p>His garden was starting to overgrow its boundaries, as it often happened when experiencing strong emotions; this man’s loneliness and bitterness originated from the lack of love in his life, or perhaps from a broken heart. Whichever it was, it was written all over him, in the leaves at his throat, in the description he made of moonflowers and marigold blooming between his shoulder blades and all along the length of his spine. </p><p>The flowers alone meant a lot, but where they chose to grow sometimes meant more. </p><p>‘You have been bearing this weight for a long time,’ Ichigo half-guessed in the silence following his last words. ‘But there’s no sign of forever - let me see your hand.’</p><p>There’s a faint hint of yellow, of something yet to bloom at his wrist, just below the base of his thumb: plumeria and dandelion, a new beginning. He would seize the right opportunity, or make it his own when spring came. </p><p>‘What do you see?’</p><p><em>Hope</em>, Ichigo almost said, wanting nothing but to reassure his patient - love would come to him, in due time, but that would hardly make its absence easier to bear.  ‘What do <em>you </em>see,’ he asked instead, smiling softly at the man as he held his hand between his own. </p><p>‘Yellow?’</p><p>‘Dandelions,’ Ichigo pointed out, his fingertips tracing the faint lines on his skin.</p><p>It was not fully formed yet, and would look like watercolors until it broke the upper layers of skin to rest there. Some came and went, others would stay forever - it depended on the event, on the person. Nobody could really tell. </p><p>‘So - I will make it?’</p><p><em>With or without love</em>, Ichigo wanted to add, finally meeting the man’s uncertain gaze. </p><p>‘Why wouldn’t you?’ </p><p>‘Because I’m - I’m not <em>that </em>good,’ the man whispered, letting out a shuddering breath. </p><p>‘Wanting to be in love and happy does not make you different than any of us, you know,’ Ichigo remarked, trying the humorous angle to lift his patient’s spirits.</p><p>He didn’t believe a word he said to his patients, sometimes. His cautious advices were not always good, or the best out there. Some others would say it better than him, because to Ichigo, love - love is a lot like a revolutionary war. You win against yourself, despite yourself, and it isn’t always for the best. </p><p>‘It makes you human,’ he added nonetheless, trying to spark hope in this man’s hollow heart.</p><p>.</p><p>When he didn’t have any appointments, Ichigo left his door open; wandering souls usually came by, taking in all the weird smells of a gardener’s practice, sitting there but not talking. One of them enjoyed his soft humming when he watered his plants, another one liked to watch above his shoulder when he drew shapes and added colourful watercolors here and there in his sketchbook.</p><p>The only ones who spoke were his old friends and allies, with which he shared tea and nice talks in the late mornings or early afternoons, when he had no one else to help - they had shown Ichigo their flowers or he had seen them exposed to the world one way or another. Now that he knew more about it, though he was often tempted to ask about the eglantine rose branch growing on Matsumoto’s clavicle with its roots right above her heart, the deep orange lilies on Aizen’s throat, suffocating him, or the purple heather dusting Byakuya’s long fingers- </p><p>‘Hey, kid.’</p><p>‘Yoruichi-san,’ Ichigo stuttered over her name, though he should be used to her weekly visits by now.</p><p>‘How’s the world of the living?’ She asked, walking around to smell the flowers and touch their leaves, as she usually did when she came by. </p><p>‘Sad and lonely,’ he answered with a chuckle, closing his sketchbook and putting it on the coffee table in front of him. ‘How’s the world of the dead?’</p><p>‘Sad and shitty, as always,’ Yoruichi said, sharing his smile. ‘Things have been good, I hear?’</p><p>She motioned at him, right where she knew cherry blossoms were about to bloom - kindness, right over his liver. Those had been with him since his birth and kept cycling through seasons and hardships. <em>Life goes on</em>, Ichigo thought each time he brushed his fingertips against it. </p><p>He had long pondered over his own garden, over the red spider lilies that sprouted over his feet after he had walked willingly into death, not once, not twice, but many times more; over the garland of pink peonies and radiant yellow sunflowers at the back of his right shoulder, which together with by pure white heather reached his elbow; over the skin of his right hand eaten away by amaryllis, bird of paradise flowers, bright red tulips, shy jasmines and azaleas of all colors; they had kept growing and growing, and his sister Karin had jokingly called it the <em>Right Hand of God</em>, once. </p><p>In the palm of that hand grew a huge sweet pea, <em>Lathyrus odoratus, </em>and if he had to pick his favorite it would be this one - all the others covering his fingers and the back of his hand might mean he’s gentle, just, immortal and kind, but this one bore a truth he never wanted to forget.</p><p>It said only ‘thank you’.</p><p>‘Things have been - a bit boring, but good,’ Ichigo answered truthfully, noticing how golden the bird of paradise flower shone against Yoruichi’s dark throat. It meant many things, but on her most of all it said ‘I’m free’. </p><p>‘Ah, well,’ she said, her smile all teeth, ‘if you are still bored around midnight, come by. We gonna do a bit of Hollow hunting. It’s becoming a bit crowded in some parts of town...’</p><p>‘Can’t the Shinigamis take care of it?’</p><p>‘They could, but, well - let’s say our good work made them a bit lazy, when it comes to Karakura Town and its surroundings.’</p><p>‘Let’s say your bad temper drove them out,’ Ichigo snorted, crossing his long legs as Yoruichi lounged on the couch usually reserved to his patients. </p><p>‘Aw, Ichigo, you wound me,’ she said with a yawn, stretching before turning into a cat in the blink of an eye; sometimes, when the afternoon became longer and the sun gentle and warm, she sat under the flowers and long-leaved plants of the windowsill, her ears and whiskers twitching, sometimes listening to his soothing voice, sometimes offering a remark or an advice in-between appointments. </p><p>‘As if,’ he muttered, going back to his half-finished sketches.</p><p>His next patient would not be around for another hour or so, which left Ichigo plenty of time to add colors here and there, to write notes; the lonely man of this morning had bushy eyebrows for which he used a sharpened black pencil, and his tie had been this weird purple shade stripped with silver thread. The people he saw usually wore dandelions somewhere visible, or plumerias - new beginnings, spring - all of those seemed to go together. </p><p>On her hip and thigh, Yoruichi had snapdragons intertwined with hyacinths and carnations, deception and falsehood together with truth and love (and Ichigo had seen too much of her body for a lifetime, what with Yoruichi’s habit of walking around naked or in <em>very </em>revealing clothing). That particular combination meant much and nothing at all, but in such an intimate place it was probably the mark a lover had left on her - and it was not hard to guess who. </p><p>Once, she had asked him what his human art of reading skin-flowers told about her. </p><p>‘Still not going to tell me who that’s for?’</p><p>‘Is that why you keep coming?’ Ichigo groaned, hastily pulling his sleeve down over his left hand.</p><p>‘No. But let’s pretend I do,’ she added hastily, her whiskers twitching in curiosity. ‘Is that why you don’t tell me? You think I’m going to abandon you if you do - you poor boy, no, come here -’</p><p>Turned woman again, she smothered him against her breasts, ignoring his protests. ‘Yoruichi-san, no - just - <em>please</em>,” he begged, his voice muffled. </p><p>‘Then tell me,’ she kept insisting, though releasing his face. </p><p>Her questioning gaze met his, all golden eyes and what looked like worry; she had put her palms on his face, cuping his jaw like she would with a child, forcing their eyes to meet. </p><p>‘I would if I could,’ Ichigo muttered, hiding his fingers deeper under his sleeve. One of his patient had remarked on it last week, noticing before he did the patches of dark blue and pale pink on his fingers. They had looked like ink stains at the time, deep, disorganized and not yet completely formed - but washing his hands didn’t make them disappear down the drain with the soapy water. </p><p>‘Oh please,’ Yoruichi snapped at him, rolling her eyes. ‘What’s the flower for denial, fennel?’</p><p>‘No, that’s usually for -’</p><p>‘If it was fennel, you’d be covered in it.’</p><p>‘- strength.’</p><p>‘Picture this. A whole fucking garden of fennel,’ Yoruichi said, gesturing wildly to his many potted plants. </p><p>‘Please, <em>stop</em>,’ Ichigo lamented, extricating himself from her hands.</p><p>‘What? You’re not happy with my interpretations? You should go see a real flower doctor then,’ Yoruichi sneered, sitting on the armchair of his club chair. </p><p>‘I <em>am </em>a flower doctor,’ he muttered as she elbowed him in the ribs, leaning on him and reaching for his left hand.</p><p>‘Then psychoanalyze your ass, Kurosaki. That hand isn’t getting ink for no reason, and you know it.’</p><p>It looked like nothing, even if the colors were getting brighter and the lines a bit less vague now. To him, it was a shapeless curse, because he didn’t need Yoruichi to tell him what it meant or to try and analyze it by herself, but she usually did and rarely came to the wrong conclusions. Maybe it was because he had allowed her to stay during sessions - she probably had picked up a thing or two by watching him. </p><p>‘Your right hand is for the world. You said so yourself,’ Yoruichi immediately reminded him when he made a face at those words. ‘Think, little man. If this one is for selflessness, what’s the other for?’</p><p>Of course, she had chosen that precise moment to be perfectly right.</p><p>‘That one is easy, come on,’ she nudged him.</p><p>‘For me. It’s selfishness,’ Ichigo said, sighing deeply and slightly irritated by how she manhandled him, shoving his hands up and pulling his sleeves down to touch the flower-marks maring his skin. </p><p>‘That’s right, <em>selfishness</em>. So tell me, boy, what do you want for yourself so much that you’d fight the whole world for it?’</p><p>That was where she was a bit wrong, but Ichigo was not about to tell her that. At his silence, she only smiled and said, ‘I guess we will know soon enough.’</p><p>The flowers would take their sweet time appearing completely, taking shape and color. They usually faded fast, if they ever did - others simply left a mark too deep in someone’s soul to just go, and Ichigo had the dreadful feeling the ones on his left hand were of that kind. </p><p>‘You said it yourself: it’s not a curse until you decide to make it one,’ Yoruichi insisted, getting up and walking towards the open door of Ichigo’s office.</p><p>‘You are the one making a big deal out of it, not me!’ he half-yelled after her.</p><p>He heard her laugh as she retreated back to wherever that was she lived, wondering if he was still invited to tonight’s Hollow hunt. </p><p>.</p><p>It was a rare occurrence to see wild Hollows roaming their world, nowadays - Tier Halibel becoming the sole ruler of Hueco Mundo had put a stop to their visits, even though a few were still wary of her authority or just straight-up disrespecting her. She had long water lilies growing from her hands up to her elbows and shoulders; a few were covering the brown skin beneath her breasts as well. It might not have meant anything particular, as many of her kind had no flowers at all - it was unheard of on Hollows, but as the Arrancars had assumed a more humanoid shape, some had started to sprout on them as well. </p><p>Ulquiorra had only borne the silvery branches of the crystalline trees growing in Hueco Mundo, whatever they meant - solitude was a guess as good as any.</p><p>‘Looks like that’s all of them,’ Ichigo said, feeling the air for more hostile presences.</p><p>‘Good job, peasant,’ Rukia congratulated him with a hard, heavy slap across the head. ‘I see you have not forgotten how to wield a sword.’</p><p>‘You didn’t have to slap me!’</p><p>‘Meh,’ was her only answer as she walked off to find the rest of her soldiers.</p><p>She was Captain, now, and it was still hard to believe at times like these - that such a brat could be leading a whole squad so effortlessly, with a tactical skill she had probably inherited from her brother. </p><p>Ichigo was glad to have her as a friend. </p><p>‘I can’t stay for tea, this time,’ she muttered apologetically when she came back, flanked by the squad she had brought to Karakura. Yoruichi and Urahara had bailed out of this one, preferring to enjoy a night of drinking that expensive Soul Society sake they both liked.</p><p>Which left Ichigo with no one serious enough to talk about his left-hand issue.</p><p>‘Ah, maybe next time?’</p><p>‘Sure!’ Rukia replied with a huge smile, her long hair moving with the night breeze. </p><p>.</p><p>The first weeks of March marked the start of spring, and thus many new flowers started to bloom on people, and sometimes old ones as well; Ichigo was not always quite sure what it meant, but some of his patients had already pondered on it quite a lot. </p><p>‘That must means I’m going to be pregnant soon!’ His patient, a woman in her thirties, said gleefully, showing off the irises below her breasts; their purple color looked aggressively bright on her milky white skin, their meaning all the more powerful. </p><p>Ichigo wished his left hand could be the bearer of such a nice message. </p><p>‘Yes, it usually means good news to come. Were you trying - with your husband, I mean?’ He answered conversationally as she lowered her shirt and sat back on the couch.</p><p>‘For a while,’ came her quiet answer. With tight lips, she added, ‘it has been a source of conflict between us. I was… I really hope that’s it.’</p><p>‘Whatever it is,’ Ichigo told her more carefully, remembering the funny pineapple pattern on her bra, ‘I hope it brings you happiness.’</p><p>‘It will. I was worried about it for a while. The flowers, I mean.’</p><p>He had served them tea earlier, and she took her time bringing the cup to her lips. </p><p>‘What’s good news for me isn’t good news for everyone, right?’</p><p>‘The opposite is true as well,’ Ichigo pointed out, remembering the garlands of yellow roses that had appeared on another patient a few months ago, when her best friend had given birth to a son. It had left quite fast, only a passing but strong feeling nonetheless. </p><p>‘I just - I really hope this it,’ she hammered again.</p><p>‘Whatever it is, it is going to be good news,’ he decided to reassure her, wanting to hold her azaleas-covered hands.</p><p>Those words felt a bit bland sometimes - if those flowers had appeared somewhere on him, he would have hated this betrayal of his body, this dreaded happy thing to come. What if it didn’t turn out to be all he’d hoped for? Iris really wasn’t his favorite to deal with, especially when people had already made up their minds about what kind of <em>good </em>news it was supposed to be.</p><p>‘Any other marks you wished to talk about?’</p><p>‘Not really… Though I’m still wondering about the viscaria.’</p><p>It was a long branch of bright rosy-pink flowers on her inner thigh - this one she had not shown him, only described. It was probably flowering near her intimate parts. It meant ‘come dance with me’. </p><p>‘You might never know about this one,’ Ichigo found himself answering sheepishly. </p><p>‘It feels a bit like handing out invitations to have sex with me,’ she mumbled, arms crossed high on her chest; at that moment she looked childish, sweet and loving. ‘My husband thinks it’s… A bit vulgar.’</p><p>‘Do you share that opinion?’</p><p>‘No! Not at all,’ she defended herself, suddenly sounding a bit insecure. ‘It’s just - I keep wondering, you know. If there isn’t some deeper meaning to it.’</p><p>‘What’s important isn’t what it means to the others - it’s the same about the irises, it has a meaning, then there’s your interpretation of it. Those are not mutually exclusive,’ Ichigo reassured her.</p><p>She smiled a bit weakly at him, and soon her attention was caught by the flowers at the windows, by the black cat sleeping in the patch of sunlight coming through the curtains; the warmth of the room seemed to wash over her for a minute or two, soothing her worries.</p><p>‘I see it more clearly now. Thank you, Gardener Kurosaki.’</p><p>The teenager that came in after her was an old friend of Karin - he was chewing gum and still in his sport’s uniform, meaning their football training must have ended a bit late. He had lost someone close, apparently, and his grief was starting to overgrow : marigold and aloe fought over what little skin was left near his knees, bringing him down a little more with every step. Thankfully, they had been stopped there, meeting an impenetrable wall of peach blossoms and white poppies - the rest of the flowers were hidden by his clothes, though a shy branch of pink carnations peeked out of his collar right above his right collarbone.</p><p>‘I’ve lost my mom too,’ Ichigo simply said. </p><p>.</p><p>By the end of March, the shapeless forms on his left hand were looking like a huge bruise, like a watercolor of the night sky gone wrong; deep red mixed with blue to produce a purple so dark it was almost black, and small touches of yellow that looked like botched stars. It was a sea of badly mixed ink Ichigo didn’t know what to make of, but which reflected his feelings perfectly. Instead, Ichigo tried to find comfort in the neat lines of the many flowers blooming on his right hand, the hand that held Zangetsu, the hand he used to write, to draw; those simple things which still hold the same, unaltered meaning. </p><p>‘You look ready to psychoanalyze shit,’ Yoruichi pointedly said in her cat form. ‘Go on. We can switch places if you feel more comfortable.’</p><p>‘Go to hell,’ he sighed, batting her away from the tulips and daffodils. </p><p>‘Can I feed the flytrap?’</p><p>‘No.’</p><p>‘You’re no fun.’</p><p>He dipped his fingers in the watering can, and flicked water at her; she ran all the way to the half-open window, where the small droplets on her black coat seemed to turn into gleaming diamonds under the sunlight. </p><p>‘Your hand is not finished yet.’</p><p>Yoruichi had to notice. He ignored her for a second or two - the soft humming of the radio made everything comfortable, but it didn’t quite manage to drown out the sound of her voice and her incessant questions about his left hand. </p><p>‘It’s still loading,’ he replied, trying to be snarky only to end up sounding mildly annoyed. </p><p>The watercolor stage usually lasted a month, maybe two. With children, it was always faster, stronger, whereas adults’ marks sometimes took their sweet time appearing. </p><p>‘The rendering part is taking a bit long, no,’ Yoruichi mused, her head tilted to the side like an owl’s.</p><p>‘That’s how it usually happens,’ Ichigo replied, going back to his sketches. ‘Mom used to say that they are finished the moment you think it’s taking too long. Or the moment you stop wondering about it. It depends if you ask Karin or Yuzu.’</p><p>‘What did she use to tell you?’</p><p>‘That it was a surprise to look forward to. I guess she was right,’ he said, sighing as he felt the early spring breeze on his face.</p><p>The flowers were starting to smell nicely, to smell of the sun and summer even if it was not quite there yet; his pen followed the lines of yesterday, of the black cat sleeping between plants and under the long leaves of the yet-to-flower lily of the valley. </p><p>In-between appointments, when Yoruichi was not here or asleep, Ichigo either drew or thought of flowers, their Latin name, their uncommon and common names; how the spider lilies on his toes were also known as higanbana or manjushage; how he loved the sunflowers and peonies mix on his shoulder; how Urahara’s blade bore the name of the red rose he did not have on his skin. </p><p>‘Yours can’t be a bad surprise.’</p><p>Ichigo’s gaze went to his left hand and the large bruise-like shape hiding his sun-kissed skin. Some of the blues and lighter reds had dripped under his nails, which was a bit more recent than the bad watercolor look. There was nothing on his palm, and only smalls tendrils running along his fingers; it disappeared gradually at his wrist, where the fading colors were getting a bit lighter, and a lot warmer. </p><p>‘Why would it be,’ Yoruichi tried to reason. ‘You should be a little selfish, Ichigo. It’s been years since Aizen. You have a good life. Maybe it’s time to let war go.’</p><p>‘It’s a part of me,’ he reasoned. </p><p>He would always carry it with him, one way or another - though his right hand was full of strong, gentle meanings and vivid colors, none of them were the dreaded yarrow that sometimes appeared on soldiers’ hands. Their red petals were as good as blood, a forever stain on both your hands and soul<em>. </em></p><p>His warflowers were safely hidden beneath his clothes, hovering near old scars, half-faded by time and always surrounded by white heater and sometimes amaryllis. It said, better than any words, <em>I wage war against you to protect those I love</em>. Yarrow on him was always a deep red; its center wasn’t sunflower yellow like it should be, but more of a shiny black dot - yarrow, on him, means his blade. <em>Zangetsu</em>.</p><p>‘Yes. But isn’t that why you have two hands?’</p><p>‘One for me, one for the world?’</p><p>‘Hey, you said it, not me - it’s all about balance, remember?’</p><p>‘I know,’ Ichigo said, sulking a little. ‘It was meant to happen, but I never… There was no reason to overthink it then, and there’s no reason to do it now.’</p><p>Still, it made him impossibly antsy that the colors were not settled yet, that the flower shapes were all fucked-up; a few of his patient had asked about it, curious and full of warmth, and he hadn’t been able to say nice things about it. </p><p>‘I think,’ Yoruichi started in that tone that sounded a lot more haughty when in her cat form, ‘that you are scared shitless.’</p><p>Ichigo only stared at his left hand, at his open palm that was still thankfully barren; maybe he was little scared, sure, but who wouldn’t be? He knew deep down that none of the flowers on his body would change a thing, that he would still be Ichigo - but if there was once thing he’d learned after studying gardening and the psychology behind it, it was the meaningfulness of a few colorful flowers sprouting on your body.</p><p>He sighed reluctantly, his eyes drawn to the ceiling. ‘Of course I am,’ he muttered. </p><p>‘Is there a reason to be? Other than not knowing what it is yet, and that it could be nasty? For all you know,’ Yoruichi said, pausing a bit between the words, ‘it could mean a lot of good.’</p><p>‘It could.’</p><p>‘Then what?’</p><p>‘I don’t know!’</p><p>He heard her sight, in the puffy way her cat form allowed her to do; what was it she wanted him to say, he didn’t know.</p><p>‘Go see a flower doctor, little man. Go see <em>you</em>, you just need it,’ she said, her little paws clawing at the wood of the windowsill. </p><p>‘I don’t want to explain the yarrow and the spider lilies,’ he muttered, struggling not to groan. </p><p>‘Not like you can, anyway,’ Yoruichi pondered, apparently agreeing. ‘What are you afraid of, Ichigo? I mean, really afraid of?’</p><p>He’d never psychoanalyzed himself too much, as Yoruichi put it, not because that would be deeply unprofessional (as his father said once, healing himself or his family does not make him a bad doctor), but because he’d be deeply biased. It would be too tempting, too easy to ignore what he’d rather not see; to quiet his thoughts; emotional turmoil wasn’t a good look on him, to say the least.</p><p>Ichigo knew all of the truths behind his right hand, even some he had never voiced to anyone but himself; nobody needed to know more anyway, for almost everything was already out on display. He was kind, honest and good; he was selfless, brave and true; he was a protector. So how could his left hand be nothing but a lie?</p><p>‘I’m afraid of what it means about me,’ he says, pausing for a few seconds, letting out a shuddering breath. ‘Because - if I wanted to kill the world for someone, I think I could,’ he whispered, his fists clenching and unclenching, the flower shapes changing along with it. </p><p>‘Like we’d let you,’ Yoruichi chuckled. ‘But I too know what power means. Maybe your left hand is not about that at all - it’s not your sword hand.’</p><p>Ichigo had thought about this particular thing before. His left hand holding Rukia’s, Inoue’s, and his mother’s; he had rewinded all of his memories and wondered what it was he was missing. He was a protector, and to do that you needed a few things : a weapon, powerful enough to face your enemies; the moral compass to distinguish right and wrong; and something so obvious Ichigo had never questioned its existence. </p><p>Yoruichi had come to the same fateful conclusion. ‘Love it is, then.’</p><p>For what is there to protect, if you love nothing in the first place?</p><p>‘Really, Kurosaki?’</p><p>Ichigo kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, unwilling to meet her yellow, predatory eyes; the tears prickling at his eyes would be hard to hide from her, and he didn’t want her gentle, caring pity or her heartfelt compassion. He wanted -</p><p>‘It will be alright,’ he heard Yoruichi whisper, her warm human hand pressed against his left one, their shoulders touching; her cheek came to rest against his arm, and Ichigo allowed himself to close his eyes.</p><p>‘Thank you,’ he whispered back at her.</p><p>.</p><p>He’s not surprised by the vivid blue of the forget-me-nots, or by the shy pinkish hues of the hydrangeas against which all the other flowers were resting; some were still a shapeless drop of ink, others a true surprise. His signature red and black yarrow is here, an ironic echo to his own thoughts, (love is a revolutionary war), but it’s discreet and pretty, like a gentle reminder, an underlying idea. A lone <em>Habenaria radiata</em> greeted him one morning, shaped like a bird amongst all of this blue, its long white wings silky to the touch; its meaning still unknown; its beauty so perfect that Ichigo wondered how he could have imagined it to be so <em>wrong</em>. </p><p>‘Let me guess,’ came the snarky voice of Yoruichi, ‘another one bloomed?’</p><p>She carefully stepped over the books Ichigo had discarded all over his office, closing a few of the ones he had left open here and there; she picked up some and arranged them in a rather wobbly pile. </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Ichigo answered, holding out his left hand, letting her see.</p><p>‘That’s a pretty flower,’ Yoruichi eagerly commented. ‘I see yarrow here as well, soldier boy. Love is war, uh?’</p><p>‘Please, don’t,’ he sighed, discarding yet another book. </p><p>‘It’s a fancy one. Orchid?’</p><p>‘Fringed orchid, sagisō, you name it...’</p><p>‘It suits you.’</p><p>He paused to look at her, to meet her playful yellow eyes; nobody would come in today, which gave him plenty of time to ponder over the mystery flower he had been gifted with. </p><p>‘What else is in there?’</p><p>‘Too many to count,’ he hastily answered, flicking through the pages of another book. </p><p>‘Come on,’ she moaned, stomping her feet. ‘You already made the list, Ichigo. Just show me.’</p><p>He turned again, smiling at her a little. ‘In the sketchbook by the flytrap.’ </p><p>Ichigo could hear her laugh, her fingertips brushing carefully against the pages; first, he had drawn it all, the full map of his left hand stretched flat against the pages; then each new flower separately as they had appeared - and like his right hand, the list kept getting longer and longer, starting from the small, usual ones, to the biggest yet. </p><p>There was a small patch of four-leaf clovers, discreetly nestled against his thumb; too many forget-me-nots to count, filling every single gap the others had left; hydrangeas mixed with primroses; what looked like peach-orange balsam near his wrist; the red yarrow here and there; white heater was dusting his fingertips, so faint he almost missed them; and, growing over his fingers like tendrils of smoke, were white and pink clovers and blue viscaria. </p><p>The love garland he bore was mostly blue, white, pink, and of a soft orange that faded into his skin. </p><p>‘So we were right, uh?’</p><p>‘Guess so,’ came his tersely answer.</p><p>He had made a comprehensive list of all their meanings - but there was one he lacked.</p><p>‘That’s something to be afraid of, <em>suuuuure</em>,’ Ichigo heard Yoruichi slur as she read all of it - there were all the obvious ones, true love, eternal love, ardent love, promises, protection; all of them mixed together with a few unexpected ones, luck, war, pride; <em>come dance with me</em>, but of an electric blue rather than their usual rosy-pink color. </p><p>‘You get why I’m a bit -’</p><p>‘Frantic?’</p><p>‘<em>Afraid</em>,’ he corrected, ‘of this one.’</p><p>‘Honestly, Ichigo,’ Yoruichi sighed deeply, ‘I’m -’</p><p>The book had fallen from between his hands, and landed on the floor spine first with a loud thud - the white orchid over the back of his left hand meant something so eerily specific that it had left him speechless.</p><p>‘I guess you found it, uh?’</p><p>‘Ah, yes, I -’</p><p>He picked up the book, brushed its spine, and put it back on the bookshelf. </p><p>‘Tell me!’ Yoruichi urged him, already holding a pen next to its drawn shape. </p><p>‘It means <em>my thoughts will follow you into your dreams.</em>’</p><p>Yoruichi wolf-whistled at him, her smile huge and all teeth as she wrote the words in his sketchbook; along with all the other symbols and meanings, it almost made sense - the pride, the luck, it was not meant for just anyone. </p><p>‘It’s only for one person,’ he whispered in understanding, almost in wonder, both of his hands in front of him. </p><p>Yoruichi’s pointy chin came to rest on his shoulder, and she put the open sketchbook in his hands. ‘You go get your soulmate, Kurosaki,’ she said, kissing his cheek then elbowing him in the ribs for good measure.</p><p>Long after she had left, Ichigo let out a soft ‘fuck me’.</p><p>There was one huge, unofficial rule about gardening: if the flower marks appeared, it meant whatever the patient was feeling was already there. Of course, it could always be tinted with denial, or totally unconscious, you name it - in very rare cases, it was even the opposite. So whoever made Ichigo feel proud, protective, lucky, and in love was already in his life. </p><p>Except he had no fucking clue who that was. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Grimmjow makes an appearance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Maybe it’s your friend with the breasts. The girl,’ Karin pointed out, having decided to make an educated guess as to who Ichigo’s prophesied lover could be. </p><p>‘This is why I don’t come to eat dinner with you on Sundays anymore,’ Ichigo deadpanned. </p><p>‘Come <em>on</em>,’ his sister moaned, gesticulating wildly at him. </p><p>Her fork almost landed in Isshin’s forearm, who gently pushed her hand back to her plate.</p><p>‘Do not worry, Karin. He will tell us when he is ready. There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of secrecy, right?’ His dad told Ichigo in a conspiracy tone, winking at him. ‘But you can tell your dear old dad, of course.’</p><p>‘That’s bullshit,’ Karin immediately intervened.</p><p>‘That’s parental rights.’</p><p>‘You just invented it!’</p><p>‘Yes. What are you going to do about it,’ Isshin taunted her. </p><p>‘Sorry,’ Yuzu mouthed to Ichigo from her side of the table. </p><p>She watched fondly as Isshin and Karin kept bickering over who was the most righteous, arguing that a sister shared more DNA with her brother than a father did with his son; and if at first it was a completely plausible idea, it soon became weird and unnecessarily complicated.</p><p>‘I’d tell you if I knew,’ Ichigo said after a moment, thoughtfully chewing on a mouthful of curry. Damn, Yuzu’s cooking really was the best. </p><p>‘Ichigo. There’s, like, your whole hand covered in flowers.’</p><p>‘Yeah, but it’s not really spelling out a name,’ he argued, raising his left hand high under the lamplight, examining it with his brow furrowed in mock concentration. ‘Maybe I’m not looking at it hard enough.’</p><p>‘The flowers are <em>blue</em>,’ Karin insisted, her face a bit red. She was apparently close to combusting. </p><p>‘There’s white, too.’</p><p>‘Don’t forget the little pink ones!’ Yuzu added with a gleeful smile. </p><p>‘Yeah, the clovers are really pretty,’ Isshin agreed, nodding; his own forearm was covered with some of those. </p><p>‘... Tell me you <em>at least</em> have <em>an idea</em> of who it could be, <em>please</em>,’ Karin insisted, looking at her older brother with disbelief. </p><p>‘How could I,’ Ichigo answered dumbly, shrugging it off as it meant nothing. He really had no clue, plus it wasn’t like it was written all over his skin. No, he had elected to wait and - eventually, someone would come and dance with him, right?</p><p>‘I give up,’ Karin said, rising from the table and angrily slapping her paper napkin on it. ‘<em>You</em>,’ she added, index pointed at her older brother accusingly, ‘are the biggest idiot ever.’</p><p>Then she left the kitchen altogether, and in the dumbfounded silence that followed, it was possible to hear her break things somewhere upstairs. Deciding to ignore her antics, they resumed eating and had a nice time washing the dishes together; they talked some more, but not late into the night. </p><p>Tomorrow was a monday, after all. </p><p>‘I’m glad you still come to eat dinner with us once in a while, Ichi-nii,’ Yuzu said after a moment, glancing shyly at her brother as he was putting on his coat and getting ready to leave. ‘But, you really are a bit dense, sometimes.’</p><p>. </p><p>April was a very busy month, what with all the spring blooms and love being in the air; it turned out the woman with the irises was indeed pregnant, though not with her husband’s child.</p><p>‘I met someone older,’ she told him, whispering as if it was a huge secret, although the divorce papers were in her bag and not very much hidden from view. </p><p>‘At work?’</p><p>‘<em>Yes.</em> Well, not really, but it was work-related. We went out with my boss and a few colleagues after work. We met at the bar,’ she told him, chuckling like a teenager.</p><p>Ichigo tried to ignore the pang of jealousy that went through him; he stole a glance at the back of his hand, at the white fringed orchid (<em>my thoughts follow you into your dreams</em>). It hurt a little not to know, some days.</p><p>‘And now red roses have joined the irises,’ she told him, all joy and no sorrow, looking like summer had taken residency in her step, in her voice; she was so deeply, truly happy it was contagious. ‘But you must tell me about yours!’</p><p>‘Oh, this? I don’t know who that is just yet,’ he answered shyly, waving off the idea before she could ask more. ‘We are not here to talk about me, anyway.’</p><p>‘They will be very lucky to have you,’ she told him anyway, and that simple truth made him smile in return. </p><p>‘Thank you,’ Ichigo said, feeling his face heating up. </p><p>The next patient asked him as well - and the one after that. After a moment, it was no longer funny to accept their congratulations, but a bit depressing instead. And Yoruichi was nowhere to be seen, which made the day rather long and boring. </p><p>‘Knock knock, Ichigo?’</p><p>As always, the door was left open in-between appointments, letting the late spring afternoon sun in; the dust danced in the sunlight, looking eerily like a halo around Neliel silhouette. </p><p>‘Hey, lover boy,’ she smiled softly, but not wasting another second before she smashed into him, sending them both tumbling down on the carpeted floor. </p><p>‘It’s good to see you too, Nel,’ Ichigo winced, trying to disentangle their bodies. ‘Do you want tea?’</p><p>A few minutes later, she was sitting in his club chair and looking at the plants, the flower blooms and the curtains billowing in the late spring breeze; she looked a lot like a child visiting an ancient castle, eyes full of wonder and light. </p><p>‘Thank you,’ she told him when he put a cup of tea in front of her. She immediately added way too much sugar into it, making Ichigo a bit perplexed about it. Yoruichi always complained his tea was too sweet, but it was apparently a whole other story with Nel.</p><p>‘It’s good to see you.’</p><p>‘Right! I knew it was a good idea to come despite everything Tier kept saying. I missed you,’ she added with a bashful smile. ‘It’s been too long.’</p><p>‘A few months?’</p><p>‘If not more,’ Nel winked at him. ‘I heard you got new flowers. I want to know <em>everything</em>.’</p><p>‘There’s not much to say -’</p><p>‘Nonsense, Yoruichi told me-’</p><p>‘She exaggerates everything, you know her -’</p><p>Nel stopped him with a single, death-like glare. ‘Your tendency to downplay everything good happening to you is really something, you know that? This is good. Bask in it. And, <em>please </em>- tell me all about it.’</p><p>Her demands made him laugh, and his day didn’t seem so bad all of a sudden. Sure, he could tell her about his hand, about the blue and white flowers growing all over it, about this love he didn’t know he was feeling until they all appeared and covered his skin. </p><p>‘This is a whole new level of crazy, even for you,’ she remarked after he’d handed her the sketchbook in which Yoruichi has scribbled the meaning of the sagisō. ‘Or is it, really,’ she seemed to wonder out loud, her smile soft and warm as she pondered over the pages.</p><p>He watched her fingers as she carefully turned those pages, her knuckles dusted with yellow; on the inside of her wrists was a bunch of buttercups and clovers, for her childishness and the many promises she made to both herself and her world of white sands. After all, she now ruled alongside Halibel, which made her one of the most powerful Arrancars left alive - </p><p>‘You must love him very much,’ Nel said to no one in particular.</p><p>Somehow, Ichigo managed to ignore her. </p><p>.</p><p>Nel started to drop by a bit more often after her first visit, hence her visits sometimes overlapping with Yoruichi’s; after a while, she started to send some of the remaining Arrancars to him - no one else could explain the flowers and their meanings to them, and Halibel's Fraccións were extremely curious about the whole thing.</p><p>‘You remember Grimmjow, do you?’</p><p>‘Of course he does, Sung-Sun!’</p><p>‘Well, he has those <em>huge </em>sunflowers -’</p><p>‘They are not that huge,’ one of the other two corrected her, rolling her eyes.</p><p>‘Speaking about Grimmjow and huge stuff, have you ever -’</p><p>‘I don’t think I want to hear more about this,’ Sung-Sun complained, standing up to come near Ichigo, leaving her sisters to their <em>deeply </em>inappropriate conversation. </p><p>She sat on his armchair, giggling a bit.</p><p>‘So, sunflowers?’</p><p>Ichigo was only reminded of the ones on his back, but they were not that uncommon - it was just surprising to hear about some appearing on Grimmjow’s skin. Hueco Mundo didn’t really have a sun they could turn to, right?</p><p>‘It’s a simple one,’ Ichigo told her, not really understanding the urgency behind her question. ‘It means radiance, respect - passion, I think. We usually associate them with the sun,’ he added, thoughtful.</p><p>‘I see,’ Sung-Sun said, pondering over it for a few seconds. ‘I don’t know the other ones. They were mostly orange or peach colored.’</p><p>‘I don’t suppose you have a lot of those, in Hueco Mundo…’</p><p>‘I can’t say we do. Your hands really are beautiful, Kurosaki-san,’ she said as if noticing them only know. ‘What do they all mean? There’s so many…’</p><p>‘I’m a bit of an extreme case,’ Ichigo answered, laughing it off. </p><p>‘Please, tell me,’ Sung-Sun pushed him, sounding really curious about it. </p><p>In the background, he could hear her sisters fighting over the last cupcake. </p><p>‘Usually, what you have on a side of your body, you have on the other. It’s called partial parallelism, because it’s not always the same flowers, but there is flowers anyway,’ he laid his hands flat on his thighs, endlessly amazed by how different yet similar they were; protection was written all over both, which he pointed out to Sung-Sun. </p><p>‘Neliel has those as well. What did you call them, again?’</p><p>‘White heather. The red sort is a bit different.’</p><p>‘What does red mean?’</p><p>‘Sometimes solitude,’ Ichigo said, ‘sometimes beauty. It depends on where you find them.’</p><p>‘Beauty sometimes is solitary. And those,’ Sung-Sun asked, pointing to the small faded pink petals on his left hand, ‘what are those?’</p><p>‘These? Hydrangeas. They usually mean pride.’</p><p>‘Do many plants have more than one meaning?’</p><p>‘It depends, but most of them do - I mean, an identical plant doesn’t always have the same name from one country to another, so...’</p><p>Sung-Sun made a small humming noise. </p><p>‘Hydrangeas can mean something else, then? How different can it be?’</p><p>‘A lot,’ Ichigo laughed, thinking about the particularities of those flowers. </p><p>He picked up his sketchbook, finding the specific page where he had put all his thoughts about his left hand; hydrangeas, he read, could mean pride, but also heartlessness. He said so to Sung-Sun, who looked really pensive for a second, lost deep in her thoughts.</p><p>‘So, either pride or without a heart? It would never bloom in my world, but this flower does sound awfully similar to what we are,’ she giggled, getting up from the armchair in a small jump. ‘Thank you, Kurosaki Ichigo. Your information was quite fun to learn. Is it alright if I come back someday?’</p><p>‘Sure,’ he mumbled as she dragged her sisters out of his office. </p><p>The three of them all waved cheerfully as they left, still bickering over food and tea. Before washing their cups and cleaning the breadcrumbs from his carpet and coffee table, Ichigo still took a few seconds to write Sung-Sun’s remark on the hydrangeas’ page. It shone quite a different light on that particular flower’s meaning - he’d best remember it, if Arrancars visiting his office became a regular occurrence.</p><p>He kind of wish they did. They were fun to be around - and Ichigo had to admit he missed some of them. It still warmed his heart to see Nel, even if it was not often. He wondered if Grimmjow would ever stop by, with his sunflowers and whatever else was marked his skin now; Ichigo mostly remembered seeing scars rather than colorful petals. </p><p>He didn’t seem like a flower guy anyway.</p><p>.</p><p>‘Hm. I do not think he is telling you the whole truth,’ Sung-Sun pointedly said, floating around Ichigo’s 2 am appointment.</p><p>It was the lonely man with the bushy eyebrows, whose wormwood leaves had reached his throat - it was getting a bit out of hand, to put it bluntly. </p><p>‘I’d like to examine your back and shoulders. Could you please remove your shirt?’</p><p>He complied easily enough, and sat with his exposed back to Ichigo; Sung-Sun was watching with him from above his shoulder, her long hair and long sleeves brushing against his arm and neck as she studied the flower-marks. </p><p>‘It’s mostly wormwood leaves, though I can still see some touches of anemone and moonflower. How is the dandelion on your wrist?’</p><p>The man held up his wrist, high enough for Ichigo to notice it was still a shapeless blob of yellow. A little less than a month had passed since their last session, which should have been enough for it to reach the surface and bloom; that it hadn’t meant a lot about the man’s mental state. Something was not right. But, contrary to Sung-Sun’s theory - the man being a huge liar - Ichigo was more tempted to suggest denial. </p><p>‘It’s all around my throat now,’ his patient mumbled, his shoulders sagging. </p><p>‘Yes,’ Ichigo agreed, eyes following the long green tendrils that almost reached the man’s ears; like most marks appearing on this particular area of the body, it either meant deep denial - or silence, suffocation even. </p><p>This didn’t seem to be the case here, for his patient still seemed quite functional for someone with a trauma he couldn’t speak of. Besides, overgrown wormwood was not a particularly common affliction - usually, it was an overabundance of faded, wilting flowers rather than healthy, green leaves. Whatever this was, it was alive and kicking.</p><p>‘I’ve seen enough, you can dress,’ Ichigo told his patient reassuringly; there was something more to wormwood, but he needed to check first -</p><p>‘You have an idea, don’t you?’ Sung-Sun’s voice came up from the ceiling, where she was looking at him with a frown.</p><p>Nodding, Ichigo went to his bookshelves, looking for the herbarium he had put together during his studies; the leather tome was rather huge, and took up most of the coffee table when opened. </p><p>‘What is it?’</p><p>‘An herbarium. I’m looking for the page on wormwood,’ Ichigo explained to both Sung-Sun and his patient. ‘This way, I can show you what it looks like, what it usually means, and then we can - <em>talk</em>.’</p><p>Sung-Sun read all lines just as the man did, once Ichigo had found and opened the page in front of them; he already knew what he would find there, something about a very bitter plant which had absence written in its very name.</p><p>‘<em>Artemisia absinthium</em>,’ the man read. ‘The one used to distill absinthe?’</p><p>‘The very one,’ Ichigo answered. </p><p>‘So… Absence? Solitude?’</p><p>‘There’s more to it than meets the eye. What are you denying yourself so strongly that your garden is overgrowning?’</p><p>The man could not meet his eyes. </p><p>‘I can only help so much,’ Ichigo tried. ‘It must come from you, as well - I don’t mean to pry, but could you be in love with someone already -’</p><p>‘I don’t think - this is not what I came here to hear,’ the man visibly bristled as he finished fastening the buttons of his white shirt; he started looking a little red, a little furious. ‘With what I’m paying you, you could at least -’</p><p>Ichigo sneered before he could stop himself, making Sung-Sun giggle. </p><p>‘If you pay me to cuddle you and spare your feelings, you can keep your money,’ he said, rising from his seat and going to open the door. ‘Have a good day, sir.’</p><p>The man rose and left abruptly, making the next patient jump in his a little when he loudly flanked the door. Ichigo only smiled at the young lady, who looked between him and the door in slight shock. Sung-Sun's ghost-like laugh resonated loudly in the waiting room, her mouth hidden by her pristine white sleeve; it looked like she’d had enough fun for today, because she only waved at Ichigo before disappearing. </p><p>Going back to his next patient, Ichigo invited her in with a tight, apologetic smile. ‘Shall we?’ </p><p>He gestured at her to sit; her gaze stopped for a few seconds on his hand.</p><p>‘Are you looking for a dance partner?’</p><p>‘Excuse me?’</p><p>‘Your hand. The viscarias are quite beautiful,’ she added with a shy, bashful smile; her cheeks went a little pink, like the color of the peonies on her collarbone. </p><p>‘Th-thanks,’ Ichigo said, stumbling a bit upon the words as she sat. ‘What brings you today?’</p><p>Her eyes were of a common shade of brown, neither cold nor warm; she took in the office, the plants, and the herbarium still opened in front of her, but did not make any comment about it as Ichigo closed it, and put it back it belonged. </p><p>‘It’s hard to put this into words,’ she started telling him after a moment, her voice sounding a bit dull in the silence of his otherwise empty office; she put a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, looking really uncomfortable about her story.</p><p>Most people usually were. Gardeners were not regular psychiatrists, though not for lack of studying the specifics; they helped you trim, uproot and sometimes sanitize the garden, but in the end it’s all in your head. Ichigo was only putting words on afflictions, on flower-marks appearing here or there - the dirty work was entirely done by his patients, even if most of them didn’t fully realize it. </p><p>‘Take your time,’ Ichigo reassured her. ‘Do you want tea?’</p><p>‘Oh, sure! If it’s no bother… I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose,’ her apologetic smile reminded him of Inoue, of her gentle hand touching his and her lips finding his and the long, awkward silence that had followed. </p><p>‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back,’ he said, excusing himself to a corner of the room where he kept a box of various tea bags and an old electric kettle on which Karin used to put her football and pokemon stickers. </p><p>‘I don’t have your viscarias, but I - I have lime blossoms. <em>Everywhere</em>,’ she admitted rather bluntly, her perfectly manicured hands fisted in the crisp grey fabric of her blouse. </p><p>It made Ichigo pause. He had heard about lime blossoming under a heavy gaze, under a simple touch, during sex - it was not uncommon or weird, just best kept hidden. </p><p>‘So far it’s been easy to hide, it’s - ah, mostly in private areas,’ she mumbled as the kettle started making its usual end of the world noises. </p><p>‘I don’t understand,’ Ichigo said, a bit puzzled. ‘What seems to be the issue? Lime isn’t surprising if -’</p><p>‘I know that! I just - it’s not <em>normal</em>,’ she argued, a bit agitated as he poured the hot water into two mugs. </p><p>‘Why wouldn’t it be?’</p><p>‘Thanks,’ his patient said when he handed her the mug and put the teabag box on the coffee table. ‘I am not supposed to be feeling this. Not for <em>her</em>,’ she added, her lips a tight line. </p><p>She studied his expression for a few seconds, looking for surprise or disgust, or whatever it was she expected to find.</p><p>‘And you think it’s a problem because… ?’ Ichigo said after a moment, finding it really funny to tease her a little. He couldn’t really blame her for being overly cautious - homophobic gardeners weren’t unheard of.</p><p>‘I - it’s - she’s a <em>girl</em>,’ the woman stuttered, gesturing at everything and nothing, her steaming teacup in her hand. </p><p>‘Alright. I’m going to make a few guesses, if it’s alright with you,’ he decided, waiting for her to nod before continuing. ‘I’m pretty sure there is an azalea somewhere on you. It’s probably of a warm color, red or orange. It’s on one of your legs,’ he went on, voicing his theories and watching his patient’s face betray her incredulity. ‘It bloomed a bit before the lime blossoms appeared.’</p><p>‘It bloomed last year,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And it’s orange.’</p><p>‘There’s either a blue rose or a kuroyuri on your opposite leg.’</p><p>‘A kuroyu-what?’</p><p>‘A rice lily. It’s brown,’ Ichigo explained. </p><p>The scold on her face meant he had guessed right. </p><p>‘How can you know all this,’ she asked in an accusatory tone, glaring at him. </p><p>‘It takes one to know one,’ he said, thinking of the pink peonies’ other meaning and how smug they had looked on his right hip, nestled against light pink roses, white cactus flowers and bright orange lilies; the whole bouquet reached his inner thigh and bloomed all over his skin in all the warm colors you could imagine. There was even a lone, brilliant dahlia that seemed to be shimmering if you looked at it just the right way; some of his boyfriends and one-night-stands had even commented on how straightforward and clear that message was, especially this close to his dick.</p><p>But before that, on his other thigh and hip, there had been that dreaded blue rose, along with the kuroyuri and some opportunistic foxglove. </p><p>‘Kuroyuri is a sticky, smelly flower. It’s pretty, though,’ Ichigo said, smiling as he drank his tea. ‘Its meaning is less pretty - this love, you see it as impossible, maybe as a curse.’</p><p>‘I’m not gay,’ the woman decided, stomping her foot on the carpeted floor. </p><p>‘I’m not suggesting you are; simply that this desire is slowly becoming something stronger, fouler. It’s festering,’ Ichigo explained plainly. ‘You want this, and at the same time you deny yourself. The string of pink and red peonies on your collar bone say you are brave and true, and I know they have been here for a long time.’</p><p>Her small hands went to her throat, brushing against the necklace of flowers there - she wore her heart on her sleeve, this one. </p><p>‘I’m not sure it’s what I wanted to hear,’ she admitted, looking rather lost. </p><p>Ichigo thought about his previous patient leaving the room in anger. ‘That’s not my purpose.’</p><p>‘I know… I need - I need time. To process this. Sorry,’ she said, leaving a check on the coffee table and hastily running out of his office. </p><p>At least, she didn’t flank the door behind her and was polite enough to say goodbye. </p><p>‘I don’t suppose you are free for the next period?’</p><p>‘Hello, Yoruichi,’ he sighed, pushing one of the windows open to let the spring breeze in.</p><p>She fell onto the couch, looking pleasantly exhausted. </p><p>‘I’m not staying long. Looks like you’re going to have a few visitors soon... <em>But</em>,’ she pointedly said, ‘I’m coming back tomorrow. Kisuke is not a huge fan of me taking naps in his shop. He says the clients don’t like it.’</p><p>‘... There are no clients in his shop,’ tried to reason Ichigo.</p><p>‘My point exactly,’ Yoruichi sighed, stifling a yawn. </p><p>She made her escape quietly through the window when the next patients came in, an old couple he saw often - they were wondering about the new flowers on their forearms and eager to share their old wedding pictures with him; they had brought homemade honey and some yellow tulip bulbs for his indoor garden.</p><p>‘We don’t spend so much time thinking about it, these days,’ the old man told him after they’d spoken about the sale of their farm. </p><p>‘No, we have enough to worry about with the little demons our daughter made,’ his wife agreed, nodding deeply as she turned the page of the big album of old and new photographs they had brought. ‘There,’ she said, pointing a particular picture of herself. ‘July 1968. What a summer that was…’</p><p>Ichigo had of course offered them tea, which they had sweetened with their homemade honey; their old skin was wrinkled and tanned, stained with age and flowers alike, so it was hard to make out shapes or colors anymore. Looking at them, it wasn’t hard to guess which plants made the numerous garlands circling their forearms : there was lilac, or maybe lavender, and all the kinds of wild flowers you could find in Karakura’s countryside. </p><p>The dust looked golden under the sunlight, and swirled around lazy and unbothered; the soft spring breeze made the curtains float like empty ghosts, and the air smelled sweet and warm, making Ichigo think of summer and nice things - life felt good, and he felt invincible.</p><p>‘That new ink, son?’</p><p>‘Oh, this?’</p><p>His left hand was complete, and shining like an oiled canvas; beneath the long white wings of the fringed orchid, all the other flowers had blurred together. Now, it all looked like the shimmering, eerie blue scales of a snake the world had yet to discover.</p><p>‘It’s a promise,’ Ichigo said with a newfound fondness.</p><p>What a strange afternoon. </p><p>.</p><p>Ichigo was busy watering his future yellow tulips, when not two weeks later someone came in; it was not a usual occurrence by now, to see either Sung-Sun or Neliel come and go, not always using the front door or the windows but preferring to cross through one of the walls, though always mindful of the potted plants. </p><p>‘If you want muffins, there’s some left next to the tea box. It’s blueberry, today,’ he said without looking, busily studying one of the small sprouts - he had planted them in yaourt pots, and would move them to bigger ones in a few weeks. They’d look pretty suspended somewhere in the big, round glass pots Yuzu had bought for him at her high school's winter festival.</p><p>Well, if the sun and water and nutrients had made them strong enough by then. </p><p>‘Playing house, Kurosaki?’</p><p>He turned around so fast that the room seemed to keep spinning a little after he’d stop; his mouth went dry, and he fumbled a bit with his watering can, not knowing what to say, what to do. He had not expected to see him again, ever. </p><p>‘Hey, Grimmjow,’ Ichigo managed to say, a second or two too late not to make this awkward. </p><p>The Espada was already inside, his nose up in the air smelling the tea and flower fragrances, everything that made spring - his eyes went everywhere but to him, taking in the books, the curtains, the windows, the comfy couch, and his armchair, the flytrap Yoruichi was always so eager to feed, the ivy keen on escaping its pot, the little yogurt pots behind him; Grimmjow didn’t say a thing, just walked in, until his feet met the carpet. </p><p>In the sunlight streaming through the open door and the windows, he looked impossibly golden, godlike; not tame, but contained; on his skin shone the fabled sunflowers Ichigo had heard so much about, but along with their radiant yellow petals were a myriad of others, iridescent in the low light. Ichigo willed himself to look away, to not let his eyes linger too long on his torso, on the scar he put there; unlike before, he didn’t just wear his signature white jacket and nothing under - now, there was a black undershirt hiding his scars; the hole in his stomach; the number branded on his back.</p><p>‘You look good,’ Ichigo said, uneasy, finding his remark bland and tasteless - Grimmjow shot him a cocky look through the blue bangs hanging in front of his eyes, a look that said, <em>as if I could look bad</em>. </p><p>‘You look old,’ the Espada answered, furrowing his brow all of a sudden. He came closer, looking predatory in the sunlight - he sidestepped the coffee table easily, his blue eyes locked on Ichigo’s hands, on his rolled-up sleeves and at his shoulder and ribs, where Grimmjow knew the skin-flowers were. </p><p>‘It’s been a few years, of course I look <em>older</em>,’ Ichigo insisted, not quite meeting his eyes. The argument was a bit strained: Nel had made the same remark a few weeks ago, smiling at him as if she had expected him to remain his fifteen-year-old self forever. </p><p>‘That’s the funny thing with us humans,’ Ichigo had explained to her, all smiles and easy reassurances. ‘We grow old.’ </p><p>‘And we love you all the more for it,’ Neliel had answered him, ruffling his hair like she’d do with a younger man, with a kid not fully grown; it had something motherly, warm beyond measure. Loving. </p><p>‘Funny place,’ Grimmjow said as he detached himself from Ichigo, his steps carrying him to all the corners of the room. He slowly took in the white curtains, the bookshelves, and all the smells and shiny things he didn’t know or had only heard of; his touched the teacups and the spoons, and it tingled eerily in the silent room; he reached out for the bright flowers that had bloomed as May had begun, a few days ago. </p><p>He sneezed, which made Ichigo laugh harder than he’d thought possible. </p><p>‘Shut up,’ Grimmjow groaned, pushing away at one stem still heavy with an unopened bloom.</p><p>Standing there in a patch of sunlight, surrounded by plants and books, he managed to look a bit less out of place than he had when sauntering inside, all bravado and grace, alluring and looking <em>good</em>. And he did, really; his hair was a tousled mess of azure, and there was still that familiar line of green under his eyes; his rolled-up sleeves didn’t hide the many flowers inked on his skin, all of them fully formed and far from shy or small. </p><p>The garden of him was lush and happy, radiant under the sun - all oranges and yellows and reds, mixed with shy patches of green, blue and white. And, unlike the shimmering packed-up patchwork that had taken up residency solely on Ichigo’s hands, his were spread all over his knuckles, wrists, and elbows: anywhere there was skin, there were marks - and the sunflowers on his forearms looked all the more radiant for it. </p><p>‘Nel said it’s your job.’</p><p>‘The flowers, yeah,’ Ichigo answered hastily, wishing badly for some paper and watercolor. <em>And yours are a vision</em>, he refrained from saying, feeling his face grow red and hot at the thought.</p><p>You learnt not to be envious of others when it came to skin-flowers; not that it was a bad thing, envy kept you alive and was not necessarily bad - Ichigo had seen a few patient thriving after a wave of it had washed over them, as if only in passing envy could push you to become your stronger self. But there was simply no point in being jealous of someone’s flowers. That’s what he’d decided to think, rather than be jealous of Grimmjow’s sunflower patch, of the orange and red peonies, of the yarrow growing white and blue under it. Plus, it really was only professional curiosity - not everybody had the chance to study flower-marks on what Ichigo had gently dubbed ‘soul species’, which was a rather practical umbrella term when he had to define what they all were. </p><p>‘And the people bearing them,’ Ichigo finished in a sigh, going back to watering his plants. </p><p>‘Yeah, Sung-Sun said it was funny to watch you, sometimes,’ Grimmjow said, his hands dug deep in his pockets as he toured the room once again. </p><p>‘So… Is that why you came? To watch me work,’ he half-asked, still very focused on watering the plants. He carefully removed the crumbled petals of a wilting daffodil, wondering if he had not watered it too much in the past few days - flowers were sometimes too delicate for his taste, but gardening had taught him patience and control in a way Rukia or Urahara’s teachings never could.</p><p>‘Hasn’t been very interesting so far,’ Grimmjow drawled, his fingertips brushing the needles of a flowering cactus. </p><p>‘That’s ‘cause there’s nothing to watch yet,’ Ichigo deadpanned, his eyes going to the leftovers of his sisters cooking.</p><p>Blueberry was definitely not a personal favorite, he thought, remembering the heavy taste of it on his tongue and in his mouth last Sunday, when he had visited his family. A few cups of tea had managed to wash it away, but the memory remained unpleasant enough - Grimmjow, however, didn’t seem overly bothered by it. </p><p>‘I get why Sun’s coming so often,’ he said after a mouthful, the breadcrumbs dusting his lips and chin, a smear of blueberry on his cheek.</p><p>‘Please don’t eat everything -’</p><p>‘Don’t get your panties in a twist, Kurosaki. It’s just the one,’ Grimmjow drawled in a pleased way, arching his neck back to look at him - again, in his blue eyes shone that predatory glint Ichigo had learned not to pay too much attention to. It was distracting in a weird way, and he didn’t know what to make of it, so it was better not to notice it at all. </p><p>It made him strangely warm inside, made his heart flutter a little, that they could be so domestic, so <em>human </em>when not long ago they had been at each other’s throats - Grimmjow still proudly bore the scars of those days. <em>To remember you</em>, he had said once, showing off the one on his torso. Ichigo wondered what he thought of the flowers growing all along its jagged edges. </p><p>Again, the radiant yellow of the sunflowers caught his eye. <em>What do they all mean to you?</em></p><p>‘How can you eat that,’ Ichigo mumbled after a moment, a bit irritated at how tasty the muffin sounded in Grimmjow’s mouth. He set down the watering can in its usual closet, near his dirty gloves and the bags of seeds and - </p><p>‘How can you <em>not</em>,’ Grimmjow countered in a slightly bored tone. It made Ichigo uneasy for no reason, like he had missed a shot at the right answer. </p><p>‘Take one for the road back, if you want,’ he offered in a half-hearted attempt at a more serious talk, at something that wouldn’t end up with yelling or insults or his own disappointment at his utter lack of social skills when it came to <em>him</em>. </p><p>Sword talk sometimes felt easier, and no less true than words. </p><p>‘Nah, I’m not a greedy bitch,’ Grimmjow decided, after pondering on it for a few long seconds. </p><p>‘Well, I’m not stopping you -’</p><p>‘That’s because you’re not a greedy bitch, Kurosaki,’ the Espada pointed out, passing near him as he walked to the open door. </p><p>‘No, that’s because I <em>hate </em>blueberry,’ Ichigo hissed right back at him. </p><p>‘You’d offer the last one even if you liked it, just admit it.’</p><p>‘... Yeah, I’d offer it to you. How is that a bad thing?’ Ichigo asked, puzzled, cocking his head to the side, a bit surprised by the jab at what Grimmjow would probably never call politeness and not quite catching whatever hidden meaning was behind it. If there was any.</p><p>Grimmjow’s eyes met his as he was leaving, and for a second he seemed perplexed by Ichigo’s height, as if this close the fact that he was indeed older, taller,finally sank in. ‘You’re too kind,’ his mom had told him once; but as he grew <em>older, taller</em>, Ichigo had decided there was no such thing as ‘too kind’. </p><p>‘I mean it,’ he heard himself insist in a gentle tone, almost ready to go pick up one muffin and put it in Grimmjow’s hands. </p><p>‘I fucking mean it too,’ the Arrancar muttered angrily as he left.</p><p>What a weird afternoon, Ichigo thought as Grimmjow walked right through his next patient on his way out; it was the elegant lady with the lime blossoms, wearing an expensive, designer straw hat and a summer dress with cat’s paw prints all over it.</p><p>She accepted the extra blueberry muffin with a bashful smile and a heartfelt ‘thank you’. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ichigo (kind of) visits Las Noches.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Your cat is very pretty,’ the little girl told him as he poured orange juice for her in a colorful glass. His sisters had insisted on buying him a set, all of them decorated with fashionable symbols such as little pineapples or cherry blossoms - it will make your dinner less bleak without us there, Karin had added, her chin high and her cheekbones a bit pink.</p><p>‘Thank you,’ Ichigo said, </p><p>The set had ended up in his office rather than at his apartment, which was on the floor above. His father thought it small and cramped, but Ichigo liked it - it was warm in the winter and not too hot in the summer, close enough to the river that the air was crisp and fresh in the evenings. It felt like <em>home</em>, in a way his family house had been but never quite enough. </p><p>‘What’s his name?’ </p><p>‘It’s a girl cat. Her name is Yoruichi,’ Ichigo answered, settling back in his armchair. </p><p>The mother was anxiously chewing on the branch of her sunglasses, having taken them off upon entering his office - her cup of tea was still untouched and steaming, and she was anxiously rearranging the sweets Ichigo had put on the table in groups of colors. </p><p>‘Woah,’ the girl said, sparkles in her eyes. ‘Can I pet her? Later?’</p><p>‘Himawari, not now,’ her mother gently shushed her, planting a straw in the glass. This one had little bananas on it, some peeled half-way and some half-eaten and others intact, and it made Ichigo happy that things could be this simple. </p><p>‘Later,’ he agreed with a smile, his eyes catching Yoruichi’s syrupy gold gaze across the room. </p><p>As always, she was sleeping in the morning patch of sunlight that rarely moved across the room thanks to the southern - or south-western? - exposure of the office windows. Not that Ichigo kept track of it, but he had moved the touch-me-not plant away from her batting paws. </p><p>‘Isn’t she a bit young to be here?’ Sung-Sun asked from above his shoulder, a lock of her long hair tickling his cheek as she did so. </p><p>His office was rather crowded today. </p><p>‘Tell me about your flowers,’ Ichigo asked, not very used to children - this particular patient had been sent in by his sister rather than by his father this time. Karin was assisting her football coach during the week-ends, and he was in charge of some kids from their neighborhood, this girl included.</p><p>They had noticed a few shapeless blobs of colors on her ankles and wrists, and had not thought much about it until last week. </p><p>‘I don’t wanna,’ she said immediately, retreating farther into the couch cushions, holding her glass precariously in one hand.</p><p>Ichigo chuckled, reminded sharply of his own first with a gardener. ‘Then, can I tell you about mine?’</p><p>That seemed to catch her attention a little, and her warm brown gazed wandered to his flower-inked hands. She blinked at him slowly, as if assessing the danger of such a simple question - her little mouth caught the straw and she gulped absently at the orange juice before nodding. </p><p>‘You have so many,’ her mother remarked with interest, apparently curious herself and finally able to express it without sounding too nosy or disrespectful. ‘I didn’t want to pry, so I did not ask, but -’</p><p>‘It’s alright,’ Ichigo told her with a reassuring smile. He turned towards Himawari, her name calling forth the radiant golden color of Grimmjow’s sunflowers. ‘I have a lot on my hands, but some people hide them because they are shy. I’m not,’ he said with a triumphant smile. </p><p>‘My flowers are. A little,’ the girl agreed, clinging to her glass, the straw bobbing here and there. ‘What’s the big white one?’</p><p>The orchid on his left hand had caught her interest, of course - how could you overlook it? It was practically crawling all over the back of his hand like an ugly mole. ‘It’s a fringed orchid. I didn’t have it before, you know.’ </p><p>‘Oh,’ Himawari said, her little brows furrowing. </p><p>Out of the corner of one eye, Ichigo could see Yoruichi stirring slightly in her sleep. Sung-Sun made a small humming sound, as if agreeing to what he’d just said. </p><p>‘It’s new,’ Ichigo added, lifting his left hand up to give it a better look. </p><p>Maybe one day it would wrinkle and die, like some love flowers tended to do; or maybe, just like the cherry blossom over his liver, it would bloom anew every year and make his skin itch with all its falling pink blossoms. Or maybe it won’t, came the unbidden thought; <em>the left hand of love</em>, as Yuzu had quietly, reverently put it, as opposed to Karin’s <em>the right hand of God</em>. </p><p>‘I don’t understand what it means,’ he said, sulking a little, hoping his own fears and uncertainty could resonate with the girl’s, if only a little. Her silence made it a bit complicated to understand the presence of the ghostly white leaves on her ankles and wrists, which looked eerily like fingers under the right light and angle. </p><p>‘But - you are a flower doctor,’ she pointed out in a pained voice. </p><p>‘That doesn’t mean I know everything. I just help,’ Ichigo explained, ignoring Sung-Sun’s frown and Yoruichi’s irritated huff. ‘Usually,’ he added, feigning a pensive pout, ‘the one with the answers is not me. It’s the person with the flowers that make no sense.’</p><p>‘So you do know what that overgrown left hand means,’ Sung-Sun said, arching an eyebrow at his left hand. ‘But at the same time, you make a conscious choice not to question it too much. Interesting, interesting…’</p><p>‘I just help,’ Ichigo repeated in a stronger voice, hoping to cover the Fracción’s and her <em>very </em>irrelevant remarks about him.</p><p>This was about the girl with a flower name and hand-shaped flower marks, not about his own patchwork of impossible desires. That he knew about. But also didn’t. </p><p>‘You should go see a you, then. For your hand,’ the little pointed out, scowling at him in a way that sharply reminded Ichigo of his sister. </p><p>
  <em>You are a bit dense, sometimes.</em>
</p><p>‘I should,’ Ichigo easily agreed, before resting his elbows on his knees and hunching over the coffee table a bit. Himawari’s mother had finished sorting the candies by their colors, but didn’t seem any less anxious. ‘Though, don’t you think that, sometimes, it’s better not to know?’</p><p>Sung-Sun snorted loudly at that, probably giving voice to Yoruichi’s own thoughts. Ichigo elected to ignore them both. </p><p>‘... Yes,’ the girl agreed, stealing a quick glance at her mother. ‘Papa says it’s why I have flowers. Because I won’t say,’ she admitted, her eyes going to a spot behind him that wasn’t Sung-Sun, who was now perched on Ichigo’s armchair, but probably the spine of a book or a spider web gleaming in the sunlight. ‘If I tell you,’ she started again after a few seconds of hesitation, her brown eyes finding his, ‘will they go away?’</p><p>‘I don’t know. What do you think?’</p><p>The girl chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully, her unease palpable; she was swaying slightly from side to side, restless but not yet unable to keep calm. It made the little straw in the banana glass bob from side to side. </p><p>‘I think they will,’ she muttered after a moment, her gaze going to the coffee table and her mother’s untouched cup of tea. ‘I’m not sure I want them to…’</p><p>‘Himawari…’ came her mother’s surprised gasp. ‘You should not say such things, it’s not -’</p><p>‘But I <em>don’t</em>,’ the little girl mumbled, her nails making clear, tiny sounds as she taped them against her glass. </p><p>He wouldn’t get much more out of her today, not with her mother listening and keeping a close watch on her words and attitudes - the ghostly marks on her wrists were almost translucent sometimes, close enough to a natural skin mark that nobody had remarked on it before it fully took shape.</p><p>Ichigo could see the long, finger-like leaves intertwined on her wrist; their veiny, hollowed-out shape made them look like a physalis’ papery husk, but there was no fruit nor flower to be seen. The plant did not have any specific meaning either, or not any that came to mind and could be linked to the girl’s insistence at keeping them with her.</p><p>He asked her about school, about her friends and her dad; she happily told him everything he wanted to know, babbling about sports and art class in which the teacher had them paint a Van Gogh piece of their choice, in their own style. Himawari insisted her remake of the Sunflowers was better than her friend’s Starry Night, which made Sung-Sun look up at him.</p><p>‘Do you want to go outside and play with Yoruichi a bit before you go? I’m sure she’d like to,’ Ichigo proposed as the appointment came to an end. The black cat was stirring on her patch of sunlight, fully awake now - and apparently not opposed to the idea as she made for the exit, followed closely by the girl.</p><p>Her mother stayed behind a bit, full of questions Ichigo had no answer to.</p><p>‘Sometimes I don’t,’ he muttered awkwardly. ‘But - it doesn’t look dangerous, or to be wilting. It may represent someone holding onto her. Some flowers don’t mean something, but someone,’ Ichigo elaborated at the puzzled expression on the mother’s face.</p><p>‘So what do we do?’</p><p>To that he had no answer either, except doubtful maybes and the certitude he’d drop by their house sometime during the week to check on malevolent spirits. </p><p>‘Someone, eh.’ He could hear the edge of Sung-Sun’s smug smile in her voice.  </p><p>She was still perched on his armchair, and as the open door suggested, Ichigo had no patient for the next period - which meant a meticulous dissection of the Himawari appointment.</p><p>‘How often is it someone, rather than something?’ The Arrancar asked instead, looking at him curiously as Ichigo put the candies back into their jar. </p><p>‘It depends.’</p><p>‘On what?’</p><p>‘The feeling associated with the person, mostly. It’s not uncommon, but it’s hard to say for sure - the flowers don’t exactly spell a name,’ Ichigo went on, a bit resentful of the huge white orchid on his hand for not being more helpful about his own predicament. </p><p>‘Then, once the flower is identified as a person, what difference does it make?’</p><p>Ichigo pondered over the question as he put away the teacups and the banana glass. ‘The flower is emotion made flesh. If you associate a - let’s say, a red rose -’</p><p>‘Isn’t it a bit cliché?’</p><p>‘It’s to make a point, not to be realistic,’ Ichigo argued, rolling his eyes at her incessant questions. ‘It usually means love, if not true love, but associated with other flowers, it can mean someone you love, and not only the emotion.’</p><p>‘That does not make sense to me,’ Sung-Sun admitted, her gaze a bit steely. ‘Why can it be something one second and something else another?’</p><p><em>It’s not meant to make sense</em>, Ichigo thought, turning to the bookshelves. He had struggled with interpretations at some point during his studies for the same reason - how can you say with confidence it is one thing but not the other?</p><p>‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ he said instead, shrugging it off. </p><p>‘You said that earlier. That you are not the one with the answers,’ she added, hiding her mouth with her sleeve. ‘So you cannot be sure unless the patient is?’</p><p>‘It is not my job to be sure, or to make them think this or that is. I just push them in what could be the right direction,’ Ichigo explained, repeating the words he had heard so many times at the university. </p><p>Being a gardener was not meant to be easy, even if sometimes studying made it feel that way - some interpretations were so absolute there was no point denying their dominion, like the red rose cliché Sung-Sun had pointed out. The rest felt a lot like trying to bring order into chaos, or reading a language with so many nuances that you could hardly hope to master it in a lifetime.</p><p>‘What matters the most, in the end, is the person - not the flowers, the petals or the leaves, Sung-Sun. They are just an expression of something already there,’ Ichigo insisted, trying to put the proper words in motion.</p><p>‘So, your hand,’ she said, pointing at it with a sharp nod of her chin, ‘it could mean someone. Right?’</p><p>‘Maybe?’</p><p>‘I need to read about this. Can I borrow books?’</p><p>‘You already do without asking,’ Ichigo sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Just - please, understand that there are things those books won’t teach you,’ he added, going over the shelves to bring out the relevant volumes. </p><p>Sung-Sun had a habit of sorting the books by the color of their spine, which made an interesting rainbow-like spectrum on the wall. That’s how he had noticed some books were missing one day and back a few days after. </p><p>‘That’s why I come here,’ Sung-Sun muttered, sheepish. ‘To watch. And learn.’</p><p>Ichigo paused, craning his neck to see her face.</p><p>‘How many of you have skin-flowers?’</p><p>‘... All of us,’ came her reluctant answer, half-whispered, half-lost in the late spring breeze. ‘Thankfully, it’s quite easy to hide,’ she chuckled lightly, trying to downplay it even though Ichigo could sense her worry, her uneasiness.  </p><p>He didn’t say more, unsure if her admission demanded an answer from him at all. </p><p>‘It’s alright,’ came Sung-Sun’s answer after a moment.</p><p>She was twirling a lock of her hair absentmindedly, her eyes on the open door as the small form of Yoruichi finally retreated back inside to finish her morning nap. Which reminded Ichigo he should put a pillow or something there, if only to make it more comfortable for her. </p><p>‘There,’ he said, putting a few books in Sung-Sun’s open arms. ‘Ask me if you need anything.’</p><p>She nodded just as Yoruichi said, her voice smug, ‘So. Who’s your flower-love, boy? Come on, don’t leave me hangin’, a woman needs answers,’ she insisted, her cat-form unable to form a proper pouting face but her tone conveying the feeling all the same. </p><p>‘He does not know, so we cannot know either,’ Sung-Sun tempered with a heavy sigh. </p><p>Yoruichi chuckled, batting playfully at some of the flowers as she made her way to her usual napping place. </p><p>‘Doesn’t it make you sad,’ Sung-Sun asked all of a sudden, ‘not to know?’</p><p>‘I’m not quite sure of what it spells out yet,’ Ichigo argued in a strained voice. He was a bit tired of having either the Arrancars or Yoruichi come over only to discuss his left hand. Grimmjow would have been a welcome sight, even if only to badmouth him and start a fight.</p><p>‘Listing all the flowers does not make them speak to me, nor does it always make sense,’ he reminded Yoruichi when she shot a pointed glance at his sketchbook. </p><p>‘What do you know, then?’</p><p>Ichigo swallowed. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’</p><p>They both mercifully let it go, the harshness of his tone probably enough to make them stop; he let the scent of spring and sun and warm tea wash over him, soothe his worries. That hand was only the expression of who he already was, it did not have to mean more - <em>it didn’t</em>, Ichigo thought adamantly. </p><p>It wasn’t a pleasant situation, to say the least. And certainly not one he was willing to share with them, however caring they both were. <em>Maybe I should really go see a me</em>, Ichigo wondered, eyeing his left hand as if it was not his, but a stranger’s. <em>Or, maybe I should just take an hour or two and interpret it to the best of my abilities. </em></p><p>Deciding it was not <em>that </em>urgent, Ichigo opened his sketchbook and sharpened his pencil. When his next patient came, the physalis husk had fully taken shape on the page, and inside of it a timid, tiny grey fruit was enclosed.</p><p>.</p><p>A few days later, the many dark teeth of a Garganta opened right behind the couch on which a patient was sitting and telling Ichigo about the many and inexplicable cherry blossoms all over his body. </p><p>‘There’s no tree, not even a branch or just a flower,’ the man insisted, his cheeks a bit puffy and his breath short as he worked up his anger. ‘And it <em>itches</em>-’</p><p>‘It’s probably seasonal,’ Ichigo tried again, keeping his gaze trained on the bald little man’s head rather than letting it wander to whoever was visiting him today. His own blossoms had faded a few days ago, and with them, the urge to scratch at his skin raw had thankfully disappeared.   </p><p>‘The Internet said the same thing,’ the man huffed, his arms crossed high on his chest. </p><p>‘When did it appear?’</p><p>‘I don’t think this is relevant -’</p><p>‘Why wouldn’t it?’ Ichigo asked, blinking at the man. </p><p>He seemed suddenly very uncomfortable, and not because of the smile that was all teeth that had appeared at his left. Ichigo looked up at a Grimmjow, willing himself to appear bored and not very welcoming. </p><p>Which only made the Espada huff as he loudly dropped a stack of books next to the flytraps Yoruichi was so fond of. It made Ichigo’s patient jump and look around wildly, clutching the fabric of his shirt right above his heart - </p><p>‘What was that,’ he asked, the little tremors in his panicked voice making Grimmjow grin. </p><p>‘<em>Nothing</em>,’ Ichigo answered sharply, throwing a deathly glare at the Espada who only arched an eyebrow at him, but kept silent.</p><p>He was probably here only to return Sung-Sun’s borrowed books, and Ichigo willed himself not to let his gaze linger on the sun-colored flowers on his skin. Not for more than a few seconds, anyway. </p><p>‘I swear I hear-’</p><p>‘Probably a door. The wind has been a bit strong today,’ Ichigo tried, not really in the mood to entertain Grimmjow’s poltergeist tendencies. ‘The blossom tends to itch a little, but that’s only because it’s not a fixed feature - it isn’t permanent,’ he added. ‘Mine faded a few days ago.’</p><p>‘Did they?!’</p><p>‘Yes,’ Ichigo assured him, nodding, trying not to sound too annoyed as Grimmjow looked around. </p><p>His profile was sharp in the low light of the late afternoon, but his hair and eyes looked all the more blue for it; the sunflowers on his left arm were big and lined with smaller red poppies, discrete white and orange-veined rainflowers; orange roses dusted his elbow and wrist, as well as neon-blue yarrow. He spotted a shy patch of coriander as well, on the back of his hand but not all over it, not even that visible unless you looked right at it, its white flowers tinged with a warm hue of orange-red. </p><p>There was war, and desire; a passion ignited by something Ichigo couldn’t quite identify. The sunflowers were radiant, their rich color looking golden in the sunlight of this world - and all along their stem was a smaller one Ichigo had not seen often. </p><p>Tansy. </p><p>It meant, unapologetic and true, <em>I declare war on you</em>. </p><p>It was so much like him that Ichigo couldn’t question its presence, however small; it echoed too deep with what he was not to be there, along the war and pride and lust and desire, along the sun-like radiance of sunflowers around which all the other seemed to be orbiting. </p><p>Ichigo’s gaze left the exposed forearm of Grimmjow, looking up to find his eyes.</p><p>‘No blueberry this time?’ was all the Espada said, looking a bit bored and slightly disappointed, amused even if the upper corners of his lips was any indication, and all of it, all of <em>him</em>, made Ichigo’s mouth run dry. </p><p>And for a few immortal seconds, there was only the wild ricochet of his heart and nothing else - that is, until his patient started loudly clearing his throat to bring Ichigo’s attention back to him. </p><p>‘What?’ Ichigo snapped at him, grinding his teeth. </p><p>‘You were not <em>listening</em>,’ the bald man pointedly said, which made Grimmjow laugh really hard. </p><p>He waved as he crossed into the gaping mouth of the Garganta, his light-hearted glee washing over the room, raising that left arm that was so full of the sun Ichigo wondered how it did not shine more. It made his heart full of warmth and almost painfully swollen - he felt hot, almost uncomfortable sitting there doing nothing but listening to this man’s ugly lamentations. </p><p> </p><p>‘Go home,’ Ichigo sighed after a few seconds, watching as the mouth of the Garganta closed. ‘Ask your physician for something against the itching, until the blossoms are gone. It shouldn’t be more than a few days, now. Plus, I can’t say more if you are not willing to tell me more,’ he concluded, trying not to sound too disdainful as he rose from his sit to accompany his patient to the front door. </p><p>Sighing heavily, the door closed and his day finished, Ichigo let himself fall on the couch, his leg dandling on the side - he was far to tall now to be fully comfortable on it, anyway. He eyed the ceiling and the web in its corner, where a stubborn spider kept weaving it again and again after he removed it, its lines looking like gold thread in the declining afternoon sun.</p><p>Ichigo threw his right arm over his eyes, willing the memory of the Espada away - but it kept burning behind his eyelids, relentless and immortal, that patch of the sun etched on his skin, that smug smile that was all teeth, even the breadcrumbs on his lips the other day and the blueberry smear on his cheek; <em>go away</em>, Ichigo silently raged, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyelids. </p><p>He let out a long, shuddering breath, wondering how so little had made him feel so much. </p><p>.</p><p>‘It’s not really surprising, I mean -’ Karin marked a pause, pushed a damp strand of hair away from her eyes, and looked intently at her brother. ‘Summer is not <em>that </em>far off.’</p><p>‘... Just <em>three </em>weeks,’ Ichigo tempered, pointing his chopsticks at her like it was supposed to mean something or be vaguely threatening. The little grains of rice on the gleaming wood made the gesture look childish a best but that didn’t deter him - they all knew what late spring heatwaves looked like, felt like, though none of them particularly liked it.</p><p>At least, Ichigo’s family house had a functioning air conditioning system, whereas his flat didn’t. Something about mold in the filters. Or a neighbor not paying his share for the system’s maintenance. Whatever; it meant Ichigo’s safe place had been turned into an oven.</p><p>‘It’s the same every year anyway,’ Karin muttered, slumped down on her chair in front of the fan to get maximum exposure. Her forehead was gleaming a bit with sweat, and she was chewing anxiously on her fish - the workings of her jaw made the small flowers hidden half-way under her ear move as if lazily tossed by the wind. Yuzu had the exact same one, of a softer, complementary honey-yellow color that suited her better than the angry bruise-like purple Karin bore.</p><p><em>I should point that out to Sung-Sun</em>, Ichigo thought while popping his bottle of ramune open. </p><p>Nobody had wanted to go grocery shopping the day before, which had made their Saturday evening meal a bit bland - none of them was very hungry anyway, so they’d just had ice cream in front of the television. Yuzu had insisted on an old re-run of a Don Kanonji show, and at some point, Ichigo had agreed to go shopping at the local combini for the next day’s meals. It had been around one in the morning and the air was every bit as damp and heavy as it was now. </p><p>‘How can you stay so cool, Ichi-nii,’ Karin complained, pushing away her rice bowl and choosing to eat all the tomatoes with her fingers. ‘It’s like the heat has no power on you,’ she moaned, flailing a little when the fan turned to Yuzu’s side of the table.</p><p>Her little frown was very cute. ‘Yes,’ his more laid-back sister said suspiciously. ‘You look good.’</p><p>‘<em>Too</em> good,’ Karin repeated with more emphasis than needed, her dark eyes so like their father’s for a second. Then, without skipping a bit, she asked in a low tone, ‘Who are you screwing?’</p><p>‘Karin!’ came Yuzu’s startled yelp, and Ichigo didn’t know whose face was redder, his own or hers - Karin, of course, seemed very pleased with herself. </p><p>Ichigo just kept eating in silence. If he ignored her long enough, her question would naturally disappear - heatwaves just made her cranky and even peskier than usual. That didn’t mean he had to give her an answer. </p><p>‘Come on,’ his sibling insisted, already half hunched over the table. </p><p>‘Like I’d tell you anything,’ Ichigo answered, his tone matching her very petulant one.</p><p>‘Saving yourself for the one, eh,’ Karin sneered, her eyes going to his left hand. </p><p>Ichigo slowly chewed on his fish before answering. ‘Maybe.’</p><p>The complementary color thing was something he had purposefully ignored when analyzing his hand; the many hues of blue could mean anything at all, from royalty to water and even the sky, or it meant someone had a lot of orange on him. Or just that blue hands were a thing. He couldn’t tell for sure if it was the one or <em>the ones</em>, either.
His sister huffed haughtily and resumed eating tomatoes and cabbage with her fingers, making a mess of her side of the table. ‘No fun,’ she muttered between two mouthfuls. Later, when Karin reached for the ramune, he let her have it - ‘that’s a shit excuse’, Karin said instead of thank you, because that’s how she was. </p><p>Isshin was not around today, called out on an emergency - which was good, because he never missed an occasion to miss an occasion when it came to his son’s flowers. He was also awfully perceptive, and Ichigo did not need that today, not after Sung-Sun or Yoruichi or Nel had already made so many assumptions about it.</p><p>‘You still don’t know, then?’ Yuzu inquired as they were cleaning the dishes about half an hour later, glancing shyly at his hand.</p><p>A few droplets of soapy water ran from his knuckles to wrist when he raised his hand, thinking of how absolute the message was, how it didn’t spell any name but still managed to make it very clear this was it, that nothing would top this love. <em>No greater love</em>, had he written next to the many meanings of his new flowers, in the sketchbook he had tirelessly filled this last few days in an effort to distract himself from, well, <em>himself</em>. It made him want to throw up, some days, that he didn’t just know.</p><p>‘I’m not sure,’ he mumbled, trying to shrug it off. </p><p>Yuzu gently elbowed him in the arm, smiling. ‘It doesn’t matter what Karin says, you know? She’s just worried.’</p><p>Ichigo let out a long, tired breath; the air was still hot, which made him a little light-headed, a little hopeful for things that were yet to happen.</p><p>‘I know,’ he said, wondering about the obvious, about what was still left unsaid even though this hand managed to speak so much without uttering a single word. <em>I will follow you into your dreams,</em> it said, as much as, <em>I love you with all the pride that fills my hollow heart.</em></p><p>Yuzu put a long strand of honey-colored air behind her ear, the flowers lining the underside of her ear very much golden and true. On her knuckles were the long lines of stems heavy with flowers yet to bloom, for her garden grew and died all year long as the seasons passed. Yuzu had flowers for their mother, and for their father; she had flowers for Karin and some for him as well. </p><p>She stepped closer to him and let their shoulders touch, whispering a small, but very welcomed, ‘You will be alright. And it will be <em>good</em>,’ Yuzu decided. </p><p>.</p><p>Ichigo had switched to iced tea and cold water instead of regular tea for about a week before someone from the spirit world visited him again; the heatwave would not last much longer, or so his last patient of the day had said upon exiting his office. The clouds were a dull shade of grey, and kept growing bigger, big enough to hide all the blue - the heaviness of the air made it clear it was going to rain. </p><p>‘We don’t have this, at home,’ Nel said after a moment, a hint of melancholy in her lovat green eyes. </p><p>‘It’s June,’ Ichigo answered a bit dully. ‘It always rains in June.’</p><p>‘Still no sign of your mystery lover?’ </p><p>He did not particularly want to talk about it.</p><p>‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry,’ Nel huffed, her laugh carried by the late afternoon breeze. It was not yet summer, but there was that same heady heaviness in the air. ‘Sung-Sun installed an office just like yours in one of the tower’s upper floors, you know? She seems very intent on helping us go through our repressed emotions.’</p><p>It made him laugh a little to know that, and he could picture her watering the crystalline trees of Hueco Mundo, all lined up on her windowsill in little pots filled to the brim with white sand. Ichigo vividly remembered the wonder and the fear he’d felt in equal measure when Ulquiorra had revealed the four etched on his skin, and resting next to it those long, fingery silver branches - they have it too, had he realized in that fateful moment, though not expecting to see more. Not expecting to ever see sunflowers grace the skin of Grimmjow’s arm. </p><p>‘I don’t mind them much. They come and go,’ Nel said, shrugging it off but her eyes remaining on the garland of bright yellow buttercups at her inner wrist. ‘Sometimes they stay. I can’t say they made my life different…’</p><p>‘Some of us feel the same,’ Ichigo offered, seated next to her on the couch. He was in no hurry to leave, as he lived upstairs (his air conditioning was thankfully working again). Plus, he felt like Nel needed someone to talk to for a moment. ‘They say what I do isn’t really helping. Or good,’ he added in a darker tone, remembering the first anonymous letters in his mailbox. </p><p>‘I can’t see how it’s bad,’ Nel decided, bringing her wrist to her lips, gently placing a kiss upon the buttercups. </p><p>It made him itch to kiss the white orchid on the back of his hand.</p><p>‘Though sometimes they hardly make any sense.’</p><p>‘You can’t always bring order in chaos,’ Ichigo muttered, mildly annoyed and feeling antsy all of a sudden - probably the rain, he reasoned.</p><p>‘Order is one thing,’ Nel said, ‘but what of logic? Cause and consequence are not absent in this skin-flower thing, or I thought so - but then, how could we have flowers we never knew existed on our bodies? How can Grimmjow have sunflowers when we have no sun at all? Wouldn’t it be more logical to have moonflowers, instead? And what does your hand mean, the love with no name and that big white one -’ She interrupted herself, slightly pouting, before sighing heavily. </p><p>Ichigo could only say, smiling to himself at the thought of Grimmjow’s sunflowers looking golden and divine in the sunlight, ‘It means what it means. Like you said, sometimes they come and go, or stay, and it doesn’t make any difference.’</p><p>Nel snorted loudly at that. ‘I just don’t know what to think. Maybe yes. Maybe no. It’s kinda ridiculous… Sung-Sun is having fun, though.’
He let her babble a little about their lives at Las Noches, his mind gone for a bit to the sunlight kissing an Arrancar’s skin blessed with beautiful wildflowers, with love and pride intertwined just like his own; for this impossibly human declaration of war mixed with admiration and desire. </p><p>It made his heart heavy and hollow at the same time, it made him <em>want </em>- <em>where is this love I was promised</em>, Ichigo wondered again, lost in the many memories of his previous lovers; of heated kisses shared on this very couch or near the half-opened door of his apartment; of hot touches all over his body, all over his wild garden of death and duty; of love and lust alike, of being wanted and loved. </p><p>‘Maybe I have an idea about those sunflowers,’ he whispered instead, badly hiding the tremors in his voice, forcing away the hollowness this <em>want </em>left him with.</p><p>‘Do you, now,’ Nel muttered, and he could hear the strained smile in her voice.</p><p>Ichigo felt ridiculous asking, but did it anyway. ‘Do you think I could visit?’</p><p>Nel’s smile was like the sun and stars put together.</p><p>. </p><p>‘When you said ‘visit’. That’s not what I had in mind,’ Nel deadpanned.</p><p>He could not hear her, not any words - the exhilaration of the fight had made him deaf but not blind, thankfully. </p><p>Ichigo wiped the blood off his lips with his thumb, unbothered and almost lustful as he met the intense azure gaze of Grimmjow across the ruins of Las Noches. They had leveled an entire empty area without even breaking a sweat, without using swords or not him, at least - Grimmjow’s claws were sharper than any blade. </p><p>Reiatsu crackled in the air like lightning.</p><p>‘<em>Boys</em>,’ Nel pointedly said when Sung-Sun cheered as Ichigo rushed back in, his blade abandoned for the raw pleasure of fist fighting. </p><p>‘Shh,’ Mila-Rose snapped at her, waving her hand at Nel blindly and almost scratching her nose with her claw-like nails. </p><p>‘I thought he was here about the sunflowers?’ Halibel chirped in, her clear blue eyes never leaving the fight. </p><p>Ever the composed leader, she eyed carefully both Kurosaki and Jaggerjack and was ready to intervene if it ever got out of hands. Which seem likely if they ever decided to use either the bankai or the resurrección (please, no, Nel silently prayed, not really in the mood to pick up the pieces).</p><p>‘What makes you think he isn’t here about the sunflowers<em> at this very moment</em>,’ Nel replied smugly to Tier.  </p><p>Her queen only raised a curious eyebrow. ‘... And this boy,’ she said after a moment, ‘is the same boy that defeated Aizen?’</p><p>‘He is,’ Nel dutifully answered as Ichigo was to slow to sidestep an attack, getting three large claw marks on his throat. ‘What a few years do to someone, right?’</p><p>He was more man than boy, now; everything about him was still a bit wild, a bit chaotic and disorganized in a way some people would always be; it was endearing to watch him this boyish, this careless again after witnessing what human life was like to him - he seemed more himself here and now than he had been this morning after quietly asking if he could join her on her way back.</p><p>‘Of course you can, you silly man,’ Nel had told him, punching his jaw gently before laughing.</p><p>She was regretting her decision a bit. </p><p>‘Is he really this oblivious?’ Apacci groaned, not really used to watching and probably thinking of joining the fight herself - not if you want to keep both of your hands, Halibel had warned about half an hour earlier.</p><p>‘Is it really this obvious, though,’ Sung-Sun tempered, her eyes darting around the field as she followed every movement with a hunger that spoke of her own desire to fight.</p><p>‘They are both idiots,’ Nel smugly concluded, crossing her arms high on her chest; even if Grimmjow wasn’t the one promised by the hand (it had many meanings, bla bla bla), there was <em>something</em>. Something Ichigo was apparently too blind to pursue. And that was not speaking about Grimmjow’s sheer stubbornness and pride, which made him want things but not do things, or so she had told him after he had clawed one of the sunflowers off of him. The skin had grown back, of course, and along with it the molten gold of the petals for which he had no name until Nel told him. </p><p>She could only hope Ichigo wouldn’t be that stubborn. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Ichigo is touch-starved (a little). <br/>Also NSFW right at the beginning &amp; at the end (sorry) (i guess).</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ichigo decided flowers shouldn’t look that smug. </p><p>Especially not <em>there</em>. </p><p>Especially not <em>those</em>.</p><p>There had been lime blossoms peppering the fine skin of his hip for a long time, along the bone and all around the bigger, showy flowers there that basically meant <em>I like men</em> and <em>I’d like to fuck you</em>. </p><p>His breath was fogging a little in the warm bathroom and his left hand, splayed on the white tile of his shower wall, taunted him just as much as the lust flowers did. There was even a new one - still shapeless but already of a deep purple color - on his inner thigh, lower, <em>there</em>, and it made him hot and bothered to even look at it, to even think about it. </p><p>He wanted, and - ‘<em>Fuck</em>,’ did he breathe against the tiles, his forehead pressed there looking for a cooler anchor and not finding any. He could feel every single droplet of water running along his skin, from his damp, orange hair and all the way down to his stomach or spine, taunting, heavy, inevitable -</p><p>He was hard and hungry for something that was not there, that was vividly absent and yes, maybe it had been a long time since his last one night stand, but the sheer intensity of it made him light-headed and slightly delirious. Ichigo needed someone’s else hands on him, and he needed it <em>now</em>, but nobody was fucking <em>there</em> - his frustration would soon turn into anger, and a small, reasonable part of him very much did not want that. </p><p>He wanted a mouth on his, hands on him; he pictured someone coming in the shower, pressing lovingly, hungrily against his back and brushing wet, hot kisses on his neck, biting a little even - Ichigo sighed deeply as he started touching himself, imagining those foreign, sweet-tasting lips on his, on him, shutting him up and drinking the moans right out of his mouth.</p><p>The nails of his wretched left hand racked a little against the white tiles, finding nothing to hold onto - and maybe a few cries escaped his mouth as his lover moved closer to his ear, whispering divinely sweet nothings and brushing his fingertips against his ribcage, fingering all the bony lines and taut muscles, finally putting his thumb to his nipple and caressing it, rubbing slow circles, taunting and sweet -</p><p>‘Fuck,’ he breathed again, edging closer to the end of this lovely fantasy - so he decided to go a little slow, to make it last a bit longer before it escaped him. He pictured more, a mouth on his inner thigh, eating at the unshaped new flower, biting a little at all the lime blossoms; a hand coming to grip the back of his thigh so near his ass that nails embedded themselves there, to leave marks, to <em>stay</em>.</p><p>Damp hair stuck against his forehead, and he hastily pushed it away - he was close, breathing harder but at the time not wishing for an end so easy, so fast, but he was already too far gone to stop, the many kisses and touches already feeling like the very wet lap of a tongue on the underside his dick. A throaty moan escaped his lips as he imagined the warm breath that would follow, just there, right against the tip, just as his dick was about to be swallowed - </p><p>Ichigo felt warmth pool low inside of him, like liquid gold running through his veins, and his erratic breathing became deep, eerie moans as he rode the heady waves of pleasure, his knees weak and his soul lifted a thousand steps above; he welcomed the familiar throbbing of his exhausted dick against his hand as he came, while a thousand stars and one exploded behind his closed eyelids.</p><p>‘Fuck,’ came his first word in this new but known world of elusive bliss; he slumped a little against the tiled wall, sighing happily as he pressed his own hands against his lips, his torso, his stomach and shoulders, picturing a lover’s touch and warm, tireless lips against his own rather than the lukewarm embrace of an empty shower.</p><p>Ichigo breathed in, breathed out, the sing-song of air going in and out of his lungs lulling him to a sleepy state - he felt gooey, but in the best of ways, and kept his eyes closed a few seconds more to retain the dream. One last exhale, he told himself, his bones heavy and his body tingling all over; then he’d clean up and drag himself to bed. And he’d inevitably noticed the small, white and blue-tinged flower that had taken shape after a very hot jerk-off that made his ears redden and his cheeks burn. The newest addition to his ever-growing garden was a very proud coriander flower, to which Ichigo muttered a very tired ‘fuck you’ while getting ready for bed. </p><p>.</p><p>‘... Not sure this means what I think it means,’ the petite woman said, a few wild locks of hair spinning out of her tight hairdo. It was her lunch break, so they were eating together on his coffee table and openly spoke of her childhood flowers in-between bites and bento plastic wrappers. </p><p>Ichigo had insisted on paying. Grimmjow had snorted loudly at that, muttering something that sounded definitely like ‘Typical’ before banging his feet against the coffee table, which had spilled juice and soup all over their paper napkins. </p><p>‘The withered buttercups - I know what they are, and I made my peace with that… Though I can’t help but hoping they will go away,’ his patient said, letting out a shuddering breath, the line of her shoulders sinking low. She was an accomplished editor with a successful career, very close to creating her own independent label - but she also hid the flowers on her wrists with concealer and sometimes gaudy jewelry. They marked her in a way nobody wanted to be; branded her a victim of life though she had managed to make the most of it.</p><p>Ichigo kind of admired her for that. ‘I know what people say,’ he told her after a moment, pondering over the words before voicing his thoughts, ‘that they are meant to stay with you, to mark all steps of your life, good and bad - I’m not sure either all of them are good to keep.’</p><p>Her patient nodded thoughtfully, chewing on the pickled vegetables of her bento, blissfully oblivious to Grimmjow’s antics as he circled the room like a tiger stuck in a closet with mice; it felt a lot like counting the seconds before chaos happened.</p><p> </p><p>‘Which one would you erase, if you could?’</p><p>‘All of them,’ she said in a very solemn, final tone; her gaze was unwavering when it met his own, hardened by time and experiences, the answer obvious and yet still a tiny bit hesitant. Her dark green eyes looked like the glass of those beer bottles his father liked, when the sun shone through it and cast reflections all over. ‘I’d rather start anew. A clean slate,’ she added, clearing her throat as if suddenly uncomfortable with her admission. </p><p>Ichigo eased her worries with a soft smile, ignoring Grimmjow who had slumped next to his patient, his arm draped around the back of the couch; it was harder to ignore him now, but he’d manage. </p><p>‘I know it’s possible,’ she added, noticing his silence and his eyes staring into what she thought was empty air and nothingness and not an Espada. </p><p>The fading process was not painful or ugly: in its own peculiar way, it was a rather beautiful sight to behold. The flowers came and went as they pleased, though most of them were here to stay, but the few who were not to remain dissipated quietly into nothingness. The colors left first, leading to an intermediate step where there was only the dull, blotched black outline of the petals and the stem, maybe the leaves; then, those would fade as well until nothing remained. It could take a second or a day, a month or a year; and you were usually the last one to notice the full extent of that silent vanishing. </p><p>Though, that was not what his patient was referring to.</p><p>‘It is,’ Ichigo simply said.</p><p>Technology had brought a deeper layer of understanding to the flowers, and for almost a decade they had become as removable as a bad tattoo you regretted. They could be dissolved, like old ink with an eraser, and you were left empty and void of them. </p><p>‘I want this freedom for myself,’ the woman argued, unaggressive but sounding strained, tired, like this was an old argument she’d had many times before. </p><p>‘I wish we could be snakes and shed skin,’ Ichigo agreed, pensively rubbing the back of his left hand.</p><p>Grimmjow scowled, making a face at him, his tongue rolling out of his mouth like this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. ‘Snakes’, he scoffed, amused beneath his apparent anger.</p><p>‘Which one would you erase,’ Ichigo’s patient asked him, and because she’d been here a few times before she had noticed the new ones, their shimmering blue hues a bit blinding under the sun; their relentless meaning, maybe.</p><p>Grimmjow perked up at that. </p><p>‘You have so many, though,’ she said, facing his reflective silence, his pondering of which one he hated badly enough to want it gone; the little coriander flower came to mind, and the itchy cherry blossoms as well, even the lush patch of lime blossoms so near his thigh, but none of them could ever warrant such a drastic measure.</p><p>Sure, they were a shitty reminder of his loneliness, of a bottomless pool of want that could not be easily filled, of time passing and not stopping, but - he did not <em>hate </em>them. They were endearing and <em>his</em>, in the worst and the best of ways. </p><p>‘I don’t think I could ever do it,’ came his honest answer, the open palm of his right hand revealing his beloved <em>Lathyrus odoratus. </em>‘It’s a personal opinion, though, don’t give it any mind -’</p><p>Even the white egret orchid on his left hand - he couldn’t, wouldn’t let it go. </p><p>‘Tch, such a sentimental bitch,’ Grimmjow muttered, his own sunflowers looking smug and golden; his right arm was void of any flowers, had been since Inoue had re-grown it. Before, there had been the silvery quartz trees of Hueco Mundo and something blue he had not known - at that time, studying gardening wasn’t even an afterthought. There were more pressing matters, Ichigo thought, his eyes finding Grimmjow’s. </p><p>‘If I had a choice,’ the woman said, tapping her chin with one perfectly manicured index, ‘I’d rather never have any flowers again.’</p><p>Grimmjow stayed utterly still for a second, his manic grin gone; wherever his mind had wandered, it was far away from Ichigo’s office. </p><p>‘Some children are born with it, you know,’ Ichigo mused, unsure of what to tell her, of what she wanted to hear. ‘My twin sisters share a garland of phloxes under their ears, of a complementary color. I used to be so jealous of them - I didn’t have any and they already had one, what an injustice that was,’ he scoffed, thinking of his how angry hs younger self had been, barely seven, and how jealousy had fiercely burnt in the pit of his stomach until his mother had explained.</p><p>He vividly remembered searching with her the meaning of the phloxes, their greek name that said something like warm flame but not meant to be as destructive as fire; of looking at the moths that put their eggs there and wondering if either Karin or Yuzu would wake up one morning and find a colony of night butterflies nestled against their necks; of how it wasn’t poisonous, of how sweet it smelled. </p><p>‘Turns out they both hated it during their childhood,’ Ichigo chuckled, remembering their long tangled hair and disapproving little pouts every time Isshin tried to tie their hair with cute little clasps or ribbons. ‘The bottom line is: nobody ever gets what they want, but I don’t think your decision is a whim or something you have to justify to others. Maybe the buttercups will wither and disappear, but in how many years? What’s wrong then with accelerating the process a little?’</p><p>Her smile was warm and her eyes glassy when she returned his gaze, and maybe it would take a few weeks before she was entirely sure - and Ichigo didn’t want to influence her in any way, so they ended up the appointment with silly chit-chat rather than a deeper one about flower removal. </p><p>Grimmjow had not moved one bit, looking statuesque and almost mythical in the sunlight pouring through the windows; the many leaves and flowers of the office’s plants cast long shadows over his immobile form, his thoughtful face looking a little bit angry, as it always did - he had not changed one bit, not since Aizen. The perk of being undead, Ichigo supposed, settling back in his armchair with his sketchbook after having cleaned the coffee table and walked his patient out. </p><p>‘It’s boring and full of shit,’ Grimmjow voiced his complaint, not looking him in the eyes, his gaze fixated on the yellow tulips sprouts Ichigo had put in Yuzu’s glass pots. He had meant to hang them earlier in the week, but they looked equally good on the windowsill - plus, they probably needed the sunlight more than some other that had started to overgrow their boundaries.</p><p>‘It’s your opinion,’ Ichigo mumbled, not really wanting to debate about his work ethics. </p><p>‘It’s fucking true,’ Grimmjow insisted, not moving one bit. ‘Who says you ain’t lying? </p><p>‘No reason to,’ he said, shrugging off the idea with a wave of his hand, his sketchbook precariously perched on his knees.</p><p>‘I’d lie,’ the Espada admitted, a dark smirk on his lips. </p><p>Ichigo eyed the sunflowers. ‘You’d rather hear a lie than the truth?’</p><p>‘I’d rather hear nothing at all,’ he sneered derisively. ‘It’s just bullshit.’</p><p>Ichigo huffed, this shitty conversation ratting on his nerves. ‘Your arm says otherwise,’ came the easy taunt. </p><p>Grimmjow eyed him haughtily, as if nothing he could say would make him believe in the erratic readings of a science such as gardening - and, <em>sure</em>, it was all words that sometimes made no sense, just as his left hand made so little sometimes, but it wasn’t void of meaning either.<em> What does it say about you, that you’d rather want a lie to come out of my mouth than the truth I see in people’s flowers</em>, did he not ask, pushing his sketchbook to the coffee table so it would not fall off his knees. </p><p>‘On the stem of the sunflower, you have one that means ‘I declare war on you’,’ Ichigo said, babbling to fill the uneasy silence, craving that elusive connection they never really had but he had wanted so badly to built all those years ago.</p><p>It made him antsy, unsure - wouldn’t it be easier to stop entirely?</p><p>‘What about yours, Kurosaki?’ Grimmjow said, nodding sharply at his left hand. </p><p>Ichigo leaned on his elbow, rotating his wrist slowly, trying to locate one that would not lie; there was the numerous peonies, the blue forget-me-nots, and of course the viscaria and their sweet invitation, though the most remarkable one would always be the white orchid laid on this bed of blue.</p><p>‘I don’t know yet about this one,’ came his too-honest answer, and Ichigo wondered if he shouldn’t say a little more for the sake of keeping their conversation alive. ‘... But I have some others more obvious,’ he said, seeking out interest in the Espada’s dubious eyes.</p><p>He removed his shoes and socks, feeling entirely too naked when he propped an ankle on his knee and pointed all the red there, ‘Spider lilies. It means death, and it’s on my feet because, well, I walked there.’</p><p>He rolled his right sleeve up, showing off the string of peonies, opening his palm to reveal the sweet pea, not really planning to explain them all but ended up doing it anyway - and little by little, Grimmjow’s demeanor seemed more interested and curious than overly wary.</p><p>‘Fine,’ Grimmjow relented after Ichigo had explained some, crossing his arms high on his chest. His neon-blue eyes went to his right elbow, to his left hand - and then he asked with a leer, ‘You got more?’</p><p>The little coriander flower came to mind, and, <em>well</em>. ‘Some,’ Ichigo offered, careful not to tell too much. </p><p>‘Show me,’ the Espada demanded.</p><p>The sudden, raw intensity of his words made Ichigo stutter like an idiot before the words finally came out, ‘N-no! The fuck is wrong with you -’ </p><p>‘You mortals and your flowers,’ Grimmjow scoffed, his grin all teeth. ‘Is it such a big deal, really, Kurosaki? You showed me half of them already, what’s more to see,’ the Espada drawled, his eyes going to his throat and what little there was to see of his collarbones.</p><p>Ichigo felt the heat rise to his cheekbones, to his neck and ears - there was plenty more to see, but none of which he’d like to show to <em>him</em>. His tongue felt overly heavy in his mouth, his throat parched as if he had not just eaten deliciously gooey rice peppered with sesame seeds and drunk lemon iced tea with a hint of mint - in his memory, that meal was as tasteless as wet sand mixed with salt. </p><p>It was so painfully easy to picture it - him unfastening the buttons of his shirt and revealing the sleepy cherry blossoms on his belly and the lovely, lively vivid blossoms near his hip bone and disappearing <em>lower</em>, past the hem of his pants. A chill ran along his spine, half a warning and half a truth. Long ago, his naive, idiot self had thought something could have happened between them - something not like what he’d had with others of his kind, something <em>different</em>.</p><p>He had been fifteen. And Grimmjow was, well - </p><p>‘<em>Fine</em>, keep your secrets,’ the Espada said, rising up in one smooth, graceful movement; he towered above Ichigo for a long second, looking down at him like he was expecting some kind of answer. </p><p>Ichigo looked up. ‘Maybe one day,’ he offered with an apologetic smile, not knowing how to deal with Grimmjow’s disappointment, or whatever that was he felt at the moment. </p><p>Out of a fight, reading the Espada’s moods was as complicated as finding truth in the flowers of his left hand - it was usually only chaos mixed with exhilaration, an amused glint in his blue eyes. He was probably just fucking with him anyway. Arrancars didn’t know about the proper social etiquette regarding flowers, much like most of the shinigamis considered them only as pretty ornaments and not for the hidden truth they bore. </p><p>‘Nah, don’t worry, Kurosaki,’ Grimmjow half-barked at him, his voice loud and his uneasiness suddenly very palpable. ‘I’m sure there’s nothing to see anyway,’ he added, dismissing their talk and his weird demand with an angry gesture of his hand. </p><p>It made the sunflowers all the more alive for it, and the tansy aggressively spinning around their stems; that golden sea of petals caught Ichigo’s eye, whose hands itched to draw all those little details he had not noticed the other day, but could now - </p><p>‘They turn towards the sun,’ he blurted out as Grimmjow reached the door. </p><p>‘Hm?’</p><p>‘The sunflowers,’ Ichigo added in a hasty breath, his naked feet digging in the carpet as he rose; the lilies grew all around his toes and heel, flowering with every new step he took in the world of the dead; Karin had made so many jokes about him being a modern Persephone. ‘They turn to the sun and follow it during the day. There’s no sun in Hueco Mundo - what do they follow, then?’</p><p>Grimmjow arched neck made him look deeply bored, but his tone was even deeper, ‘Ain’t that your job to tell me, Kurosaki?’</p><p>Ichigo felt a smile tug at his lips. ‘See you later, Grimmjow,’ did he say instead, waving at him as he disappeared through the door. </p><p>‘See ya, Ichigo.’</p><p>.  </p><p><em>Ichigo</em>, the word was his name but it haunted him all the same; throughout the day, he had successfully managed to push it away in a forgotten corner of his brain as he worked, talked, and endlessly debated the many contradictory meanings of lavender with an old classmate (‘Hamasaki Jun, just Jun please’) who owned a practice on the other side of town. </p><p>‘I see you got new ones,’ Jun instantly remarked after sitting on the couch, whistling as he took in the forget-me-nots and the white orchid. Without skipping a beat, he asked, ‘You in love, Kurosaki?’</p><p>‘Please, don’t,’ Ichigo sighed, offering a cup of tea and leftover candies.</p><p>Yuzu had tried her hands at homemade salted caramel, and it was absolutely divine - s<em>hit, I forgot to offer some to Grimmjow</em>, came the very unwelcome thought. <em>Ichigo</em> came after, and for a second it felt like he was ready to vomit his entire heart all over the table. </p><p>‘Trouble in paradise?’ </p><p>‘No paradise no trouble,’ Ichigo replied instead, running his hand through his orange strands. ‘How have you been?’</p><p>‘Same old, same old,’ Jun muttered quickly, as if it was all very boring when Ichigo knew his old classmate was anything if not busy doing research whenever his limited office hours allowed. He was brilliant but entirely too focused on theory, which their teachers had decided would make him a shit gardener - and they had not been wrong, but one could hardly theorize without practicing. ‘I got your email about the Takahara girl, Himawari. We met last Thursday, but I couldn’t get much out of her. I never had your thing with words, Ichigo - maybe it’s best if she sees you again, and only you. Her mother mentioned you managed to get something out of her pretty quick,’ Jun added, winking at him as he opened the file on the coffee table.</p><p>‘Did you get anything about the leaves?’</p><p>‘Not really, no,’ his old classmate winced, turning the pages until he reached the part of the file with photographs. ‘Though, they do look like physalis’ husks…’</p><p>Jun had no idea either of what the flowers could be, only guesses and hints; their ghostly white coloring could mean a lot and nothing at all. Quickly, their talk led to more questions than answers, and they both concluded that unless the little girl talked, they had nothing tangible to work with.</p><p>‘She is not overgrown, that’s for sure - thank you,’ Jun said when Ichigo refilled his cup. ‘But the location of the foliage, and the absence of flower… I don’t know. I have reached out to colleagues in the Kyoto Research Department, maybe they’ll know more.’</p><p>‘I wonder if she could be haunted. Did someone die in her close family?’</p><p>‘Not sure. I don’t think so,’ Jun replied, skimming through the pages until he reached the one with the Takahara’s info. ‘Her mother would have told us.’</p><p>‘Maybe it’s something she ignores as well. It’s not unheard of, getting flowers for something a few decades old -’</p><p>‘Kurosaki, not that bullshit again,’ Jun moaned as Ichigo circled the coffee table to come sit near him, pointing at the parents and grandparents' names. </p><p>‘What you don’t know can’t hurt you,’ he muttered, not knowing what he was looking for exactly - he had spent a few nights near her house in the previous weeks, but had not sensed any spirits or strong aura. Yoruichi had checked the neighborhood as well, and still nothing.</p><p>‘You really think she’s flowering because of something in her past?’</p><p>‘That would explain the white leaves. They look like a spiderweb, as if they had been hollowed out - dead, eaten, rotten, whatever,’ Ichigo enumerated, bringing up the photo of an ankle. </p><p>‘We agree on that. But it’s still a bit far-fetched - and what of the location? It’s like she was chained or something. That screams child abuse to me,’ Jun pointed, his elbow knocking into Ichigo’s as he reached for another picture. </p><p>They kept arguing about the only lead they had, that Himawari was clinging to something, and really not ready to see it disappear or go; but what could it be? </p><p>‘Your sister still bakes? She’s a <em>goddess</em>,’ Jun moaned, shoving another caramel in his mouth. </p><p>Ichigo stared a little, remembering the time they’d share more than classes and internships; want ignited in his belly at the memories of their tight embraces, of the weight of his sex in his mouth -</p><p>‘She does,’ Ichigo mumbled, looking away before his mind carried him elsewhere. Maybe he just needed a fling, and that little smug bitch of a coriander flower would finally go away.</p><p>‘So - tell me about that hand,’ Jun insisted, letting himself fall back into the couch. </p><p>‘There’s nothing to say, really,’ Ichigo replied drily, rearranging the photographs and the papers properly in their bright green cardboard file.   </p><p>‘I know you, Ichigo. With that right hand, selfless, brave and true,’ Jun said with a mocking tone which made him smile, ‘you had to get yourself the selfish one.’</p><p>Jun had seen all of him, from the little innocent peonies to the shimmering dahlia and the lime blossoms - they had been a thing for a few months, but neither of them had wished to continue further when they left university. Which didn’t mean the sex had been bad. </p><p>‘That’s a nice pair,’ Jun commented in a darker tone. ‘I wonder about the blue, though?’</p><p>‘Can we not,’ Ichigo tried, leaning his elbows on his thighs. </p><p>The day had been quite long and frustrating, which did nothing to improve how shitty he felt. Himawari was just another puzzle he had no clue how to solve, and the mention of her being overgrown had made Ichigo reflect upon his own situation - if he started sprouting flowers this fast, well, he would have to seriously consider going to a gardener himself. </p><p>‘You know what they say, Kurosaki,’ Jun started, his hand reaching for Ichigo’s left one. ‘If it’s here, it’s because it’s already there, in your dense little head.’</p><p>His gentle touch on his blue hand made him shudder, sent chills sparkling up his arms - how long had it been since someone had touched him that way, not reverently but nicely enough for him to feel this unhinged, this lost?</p><p>‘That’s love alright,’ Jun concluded. ‘No trace of denial. Or death. Yep, it’s alive and kicking. So who is it you’re in love with, Ichigo?’</p><p>Ichigo, he heard, but not with that voice and not that inquisitively. </p><p>‘No one,’ he muttered tiredly, trying his best not to sigh. </p><p>‘You single? Scratch that, of course you are.’</p><p>Jun leveled his darkening gaze to his own, and slowly brought one of Ichigo’s hand to his mouth. </p><p>‘Well, I’m single too,’ he said in-between kisses. </p><p>They didn’t do it on the couch. That would have been inappropriate as hell, considering <em>everyone </em>sat there - no, Ichigo had suggested they went upstairs, and they had crashed into his unmade bed already half-naked.</p><p>And sure, it was fine enough if a bit unsurprising, though feeling someone’s hands on him had been a huge improvement after his shower experience; it made him shiver to even think about it, a few hours later. The fine hair of his neck and arms rose at the thought of nails digging in his back, of the skin and muscle under his fingertips; this hunger for a foreign touch had made him pause, but not stop. </p><p> </p><p>Still, it didn’t feel enough - he felt sated, but not fully. </p><p>‘You didn’t analyze it, right,’ Jun said after a moment, his hand tracing lazy circles on the lime blossom patch on his hip and thigh - he was half-hard already, just thinking about doing it again. </p><p>‘Can we not talk about my garden, please,’ Ichigo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. </p><p>‘You know what happens if you don’t talk about it, though?’</p><p>‘I see it every day.’</p><p>‘Then -’</p><p>‘It’s <em>nothing</em>,’ Ichigo insisted, sulking a little, sinking deeper in the pillows and mattress; he focused on the hand so near his dick, on that wonderfully warm touch, but Jun kept whispering nonsense in his ears. </p><p>‘Ichigo.’</p><p><em>Ichigo</em>, <em>Ichigo </em>- he breathed in deep, holding the air inside his lungs a little and hoping all those shitty thoughts would go away with his next exhale.</p><p>‘I’m not as good as you are with interpretations,’ Jun said in a clipped tone, his ministrations suddenly stopping. ‘But really? Forget-me-nots? The orchid? Even the viscaria - for fuck’s sake, Kurosaki…’</p><p>He kept pestering him with the long, long list of flower names common and uncommon that marked his skin, and all Ichigo could think as Jun brushed some kisses to the ones on his wrist was, <em>please leave</em>. </p><p>‘I think that’s enough,’ he pushed hands and mouth away gently, and Jun thankfully got the hint - he always did, somehow. They had hooked up from times to times, but at the end of each one it reminded Ichigo of why they wouldn’t have worked as boyfriends or lovers.</p><p>‘I know the drill, Prince Charming. Cinderella is going to leave before the clock strikes midnight, don’t worry,’ Jun said, laughing it off with a perfected carelessness that always made Ichigo feel uneasy about pushing him away. </p><p>But - that was their thing: a good enough friendship and a fun fuck once in a while. Except it had not been <em>that </em>fun, this time - all Ichigo could think of was the smell of Jun’s heady smokes that clung to his hair, and that really unpleasant way he had to be all teeth but no bite, like a promising looking cocktail that would end up tasting sour instead of sweet. </p><p>The list went on as Jun left with a wave and the Himawari file - it kept expanding after Ichigo removed his bedsheets, throwing them into the dirty laundry pile along with today’s clothes. Ichigo glanced outside, finding the moon high but not full, no stars for the city lights were too bright; he wondered why that was, why one could so easily outshine the other, why they couldn’t enjoy both at the same time. He felt singularly empty in that fateful second, his laundry gathered up in his arms and the window ajar to let in the fresh night breeze - they had studied Aristotle's <em>Politics </em>at school, long ago, and in it was a sentence that sometimes haunted him. </p><p>‘Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god,’ Ichigo repeated to himself, pushing the laundry into the washing machine and fumbling a minute with the buttons - it had felt <em>good </em>to finally touch someone else, to be touched by someone else, but the aftertaste was bitter and shallow. </p><p>He felt so unlike himself, as if he had just lived an out of body experience; he dreamt of his tongue and lips ravaging every part of a body, of his hands caressing unknown skin and coaxing moans out of a mouth used to everything else but him. Ichigo dreamt of <em>more, </em>more than Jun, more than this, and he blamed it all on his left hand - had those flowers not appeared, things would have still been good. He wouldn’t be wondering what the hell was wrong with him every morning, or what was that longing, that hollow feeling washing over his heart at inopportune times, a vicious, voracious and relentless beast for which he had no name. </p><p>Underneath it all was that sour, pestering anger that was already a few years old, the sing-song of <em>what ifs</em> drowning all other voices - Ichigo had forgiven himself for his past mistakes long ago, but some still burnt harder than others. I was fifteen, he thought ruefully, I really didn’t know any better -</p><p>
  <em>See ya, Ichigo.</em>
</p><p>His heart had lodged itself high in his throat, threatening to spill out of his mouth raw and bloody; Grimmjow had never said his name before, and much like the sunflowers and the blueberries and his weird love for both, it made Ichigo impossibly warm and aching. He had buried his teenage crush long ago, never hoping for more than a distant friendship, a silent nod if their paths ever crossed again - a far cry from the burning passion that had animated him during all their fights. </p><p>Even their fistfight of the other day had had more meaning than this casual fuck with Jun.</p><p>This was <em>ridiculous</em>.</p><p>.</p><p>The crisp bed sheets felt foreign all around him, smelling strongly of detergent and not yet of him - but he wasn’t about to sleep in the old ones. The lonely feeling threaded together with his heart wouldn’t let go either, no matter how hard Ichigo tried to push it away. </p><p>By two in the morning, he had spent entirely too long looking at the white ceiling above his bed. The aggressive red numbers displayed by his alarm clock were not of any help when it came to fall asleep, or at least in a semi-comatose state that at least had the merit of being relaxing. No, instead of that, Ichigo was antsy, tossing and turning, his mind blank but so vividly awake he could count the seconds and recall every single minute of today’s appointments.</p><p>He pushed the bedsheets away, feeling hot for a second as he remembered Grimmjow’s unabashed demand, that show me thrown his way with no prior warning; yet, there was not much he had not seen, Ichigo thought, his burning fingertips tracing the peonies on his right arm. He chuckled in the silence of his bedroom, imagining what it would have been like to strip there, in his own office, to show an Espada every single flower that graced his body.</p><p>His left hand went around his throat, caressed his collarbones where bright blue eyes had gone first, looking for even a hint of color under his collar, underneath his clothes; if Ichigo had unbuttoned his shirt, the cherry blossom would have been the first popping into view, eager to be the first - it was pink and heavy with blooms now, arched above his ribs like a warm hand splayed there and waiting.</p><p>sent shivers all over his skin when his index traced its contour, and all the fine hairs of his body rose up like one; Ichigo would say then, ‘Cherry blossoms. They mean the passing of time, a endless cycle. Rukia says it’s quite fitting.’ Maybe he’d forget the bit about Rukia, because him being on display for Grimmjow’s hungry eyes was not something to be shared with someone else, even if just vaguely mentioned. </p><p>Ichigo could picture himself removing his shirt, letting it slide down his shoulders and balling it up - he’d turn around slightly, to show off his right shoulder and the flowers running from there to the tips of his fingers, even reaching under his nails; they followed his bloodstream, nestled against his elbow and on this inside of his wrist, singing all the truths about his sword and himself. He’d tell Grimmjow of their meanings, and maybe he’d reach closer - maybe, just maybe, they were sitting next to each other on the couch, their thighs and shoulders not quite touching but bumping into each other from time to time. </p><p>His next exhale came out full of tremors, trembling slightly as his fingers brushed against his nipple; how far would Ichigo have gone, if that show me had been obeyed and not ignored? He had no shoes nor socks, and the fateful question about the remaining patch of flowers would soon come. ‘What about those,’ Grimmjow would ask, feigning boredness, using every occasion to brush the skin of his right arm against Ichigo’s naked flesh; maybe he’d brush his fingers against the visible cactus flower, press his fingertips into the lime blossoms embedded in his hip bone - </p><p>The faintest hint of nail made his breath erratic, sent his heart ricocheting all over; he hooked an index around the waistband of his pajama bottom, seeing blue eyes boring into his own and looking hungry enough to swallow him whole and the world with it. </p><p>Ichigo would still be reeling off his explanation, his voice unwavering as he explained lust and desire in form of cactus flowers and lime blossoms, Grimmjow still toying with the waistband of his pants and bringing his face impossibly closer - maybe he’d drink the explanations right out of his mouth, his hand going down to cup Ichigo’s parts through the fabric. </p><p>He let out a groan, his eyes catching the red lights of his alarm clock - nothing had happened, yet he was already out of breath, his heart beating wildly to keep up with the fantasy. They’d kiss on the couch for an hour or a day because Ichigo wouldn’t care if it was him, up until the moment Grimmjow decided there was still too many clothes on him, hiding the remaining flowers he’d yet to discover. </p><p>This feverish dream made him gasp at how cool his own fingers were as Ichigo slowly removed his pants - he was hard, but not finished with the flowers; he dutifully mapped them all, naming them like some people would name constellations, picturing Grimmjow’s mouth on his own or biting at his throat and shoulder; the Espada would run his hands all over him and claw at his ribs, igniting Ichigo’s body even more, all talk about flowers forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>The moan that escaped him was so full he wasn’t sure the sound was entirely human - he wondered what Grimmjow would see, standing above him in this very bed if it ever came to that. He would push his thighs open, put one hand at the back of his knee to see even more of him, of every flower from the cactus to the smug little coriander one, and then, then he’d use his hands to coax even more whimpers and moans out of him. </p><p>Ichigo’s eyes would open to the world, glassy and of a clear honey color bordering on syrupy gold; his long lashes would brush against Grimmjow nose, his cheek maybe as he was busing eating up every single part of him. And when he was finished, after a long, wet and searing hot kiss, he would say - </p><p>‘Touch yourself with that hand,’ in a coarse tone, his breath caressing Ichigo’s swollen lips. </p><p>And he’d do it, letting this blue hand full of promises and invitations curl around his erection, just as he did now, his mouth dry and his toes curling and uncurling as he teased and touched the tender flesh of his dick.</p><p>He’d lay his warm, calloused hand over Ichigo’s, lacing their fingers together and biting at his exposed neck, leaving a trail of marks that would still be there come morning; they would leave behind a better, stronger brand; something far more immortal than any flowers could ever dream to become. Even in the moonlight, the sunflowers on him would look golden and divine - Ichigo heard himself moan the Espada’s name, pleasure washing over him in waves warmer by the second. He bit at his lips, his back arching when he came all over his fingers and belly; the sounds of his heavy uneven breathing filled his bedroom, and for the first time since this morning he felt <em>good</em>.</p><p>Ichigo could only guess at the flush on his cheeks, and idly wondered if a new coriander flower had appeared that time as well.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which it's June and raining.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note that Verdant is going on a bit of a break for the next two weeks ;)<br/>(I need to write the chapters ahead &amp; rewrite other parts, so)</p><p>
  <strike>Also this chapter was supposed to be 11k long I'm sorry I cut it where I did but I had to</strike>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The scents were stronger that day, when he crossed through the door. The windows were closed even though the sky was of a bright, unclouded blue like none he had ever seen before - Las Noches’ fake was too perfect, even for their untrained gaze. Grimmjow’s eyes toured the small room, breathing in the sweet, lively perfume of flowers and green things, and its ever-present undertone of petrichor. </p><p>‘He isn’t around today,’ came a familiar voice at his back; he didn’t jump, for he wasn’t overly surprised by the black cat greeting him lazily. </p><p>He recalled her name, Yoruichi, wondering how she would have fared in their perpetual land of night and nightmares. She jumped from her usual perch near the flytraps, under the large veiny leaves of another plant Grimmjow could not name; in the blink of an eye, basking in the late morning sun, was the woman who could become feline. Her unmistakable golden eyes took the measure of him in an almost bored way, as if he was not even worth her attention or her words. </p><p>‘He took a day off,’ Yoruichi added, her lips forming a thin, knowing line Grimmjow didn’t know what to make of. </p><p>Sung-Sun had pestered him until he’d reluctantly agreed to go - she needed books, but insisted he’d be the one picking them up for her. <em>What a lazy bitch, uh</em>, Apacci had sympathized, her mismatched eyes full of glee as he had opened the portal.</p><p>‘Then why are you here,’ he groaned, ready to head out. What a loss of time that had been, seriously -</p><p>‘I’m <em>allowed </em>here,’ the woman drawled, her disdain funny only to herself. ‘Why are <em>you </em>here, Espada?’</p><p>He wasn’t about to tell her about the books or about being Sung-Sun’s little bitch. ‘I’m allowing myself in,’ he replied, throwing Pantera to the carpet next to the couch, and deciding he could at least stay a bit.</p><p>It was warm but not overly so, and the yellow flowers in the round glass pots were all grown now. The tin watering can Ichigo used laid abandoned next to the electric kettle and its army of colorful, childish stickers. He sank into the couch, pillowing his head against the plushiest of them all - Las Noches, under Hallibel’s rule, was a lot less silent than it had been under Aizen’s. Not that Grimmjow minded, it just felt nice to retreat to a quieter place. Even the useless babbling of Kurosaki and his flower-sick humans was better than the whining of Mila-Rose or the hungry cries of the lower Arrancars that had survived Soul Society’s invasion and its consequent purge. </p><p>‘Is it about the sunflowers, then?’ </p><p>Grimmjow snorted, his eyelids closed. ‘It’s just <em>plants</em>,’ he reasoned, irritated by her shitty questions. </p><p>‘Is it really,’ she reasoned smugly.</p><p>He threw one of the smallest cushion at her, his blind shot earning himself a panicked hiss. ‘The flytraps!’ came Yoruichi’s yelp, and Grimmjow couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. ‘You beast - how can this boy want to keep you, I don’t know,’ she huffed, throwing the cushion forcefully on his unprotected belly, a cat no more, and effectively knocking the breath out of him. </p><p>‘You -’</p><p>‘Yeah, bitch,’ she finished for him, waving him off. ‘You gonna wait until he comes back?’</p><p>Grimmjow decided to ignore her, feigning sleep. </p><p>‘Fine. Have fun, Jaegerjaquez,’ she cheerfully told him, opening one widow to go and escape outside; the many heady scents of the room rushed out all at once, replaced by the warm smell of the sun-touched wind. </p><p>He could wait. Annoying the hell out of Kurosaki during his daily visits was more fun than roaming around Las Noches with nothing to eat - speaking of. Grimmjow perked up and his eyes automatically went for the kettle and whatever sweets were available that day - he had killed for less than those blueberry muffins. Their sweet taste still sparkled all over his tongue and lips, and he couldn’t wait until he got to eat some again.</p><p>‘Tch,’ came his irritated scoff at seeing the empty candy jar, except for those sticky brown evil things Sung-Sun had called salted caramels. Not that it mattered, since he’d ‘ask’ Kurosaki for muffins later that day; yeah, he could definitely wait a few hours if it meant more of those.</p><p>Plus, lately, he felt the <em>need </em>to annoy the shit out of him. </p><p>So really, it was not that hard to wait.</p><p>.</p><p>Rain had not come yet, which made Karin a lot sharper and perceptive than usual. Which was why Ichigo had stirred clear of her and stuck close to Yuzu, insisting on carrying all of their food to their usual picnic spot. His younger sister had eyed him suspiciously, then Karin, and understanding had dawned on her, her mouth forming a fully shaped ‘o’ before closing.</p><p>‘You know she’s not going to fall for that, Ichi-nii,’ she warned him nonetheless, adjusting her straw hat over her hair.</p><p>He sighed deeply, his own hat itching at his ears. ‘I know.’</p><p>‘Is it still about your hand?’</p><p>‘... A little,’ he said sulkily, ignoring his sister’s concerned glance.</p><p>‘What happened?’ Yuzu inquired, and Ichigo was so absolutely sure she wouldn’t share that information with their sister than he almost told her.</p><p>But what was there to tell, exactly? ‘I masturbated to the thought of an old friend - is he even a friend, I don’t fucking know - and now I feel weird. Help me.’ No, he wasn’t about to tell her that. Maybe he should ask Nel - but she would put two and two together quickly, and who knew what would happen then. Yoruichi was totally out of the question, because like Karin, she had that uncanny ability to make the right guesses at the worst possible moments. </p><p>‘I’m not sure,’ Ichigo decided to say instead. ‘It’s - I just wish things could be easier, sometimes.’</p><p>Yuzu huffed a little, the long white and red ribbon tied around her hat floating in the wind. ‘I’m sure you can uncomplicate them!’</p><p>She had such faith in him - but how do you solve something that barely exists? Is it even yet a problem?</p><p>‘I’ll try to save you from my evil twin,’ Yuzu told him mischievously.</p><p>‘Thank you,’ he mouthed at her when Isshin came barreling their way, already smelling of cigarettes and the corner of his dark eyes a bit puffy. </p><p>Leaving their food with Isshin, the Kurosaki siblings went to the tombstone, their walk quiet and almost eerie in the silent cemetery. Ichigo rarely cried anymore when visiting his mother; the rain did that for him every summer, every June, or maybe his own tears had finally come dry. He’d lit incense, pray and murmur a few comforting words to the framed picture of her; he’d quiet the wild beating of his heart whenever reiatsu flared somewhere in Karakura, knowing Rukia, Yoruichi, Urahara or anyone else would be kind and caring enough to remember and take care of it instead of him rushing into anger.</p><p>Ichigo breathed in the summer breeze, reveling in its sweet sunny scent; rather than a day of mourning, it had become what his mother would have wanted: a peaceful escape from their everyday lives to find comfort in each other, share a few jokes and a nice home-cooked meal.</p><p>‘It feels nice to be here,’ Karin said, uncharacteristically tame for such a weather, a shy smile tugging at her lips; her tiny hand found his, and she brought Ichigo’s arm over her shoulders, snuggling close to him. </p><p>‘Let’s make a promise this year too,’ Yuzu decided, her chin held high and her gaze fierce and resolute when it met his. ‘Let’s be happier, okay?’</p><p>Karin moaned something that definitely sounded like ‘not again’, and quickly snaked an arm around Ichigo’s waist. He yelped loudly when she pinched him. </p><p>‘There, Ichi-nii promised to find a boyfriend and to stop brooding,’ Karin declared proudly, escaping his brother’s vengeance with a swift duck - all those hours at the sports club practicing football or archery (or whatever it was they did that week) had made her entirely too good at dodging blows. Even Isshin rarely got to surprise her anymore, which in turn made him wail loudly every now and then in front of the Masaki poster.</p><p>‘Stop that,’ he lamented instead, wondering when his sweet sister had become such an insufferable brat. </p><p>She darted her tongue at him, already stepping back in the paved alley between the tombstones.</p><p>‘When you stop being such a stupid bitch, Ichi-nii!’ Karin sing-sang back at him, her short ponytail bobbing with every step as she made her way back to their dad. </p><p>Ichigo let out an irritated sigh. ‘I wish I knew how,’ did he reply to the rustling leaves and the sunshine pouring through. Yuzu’s soft chuckle made him turn to her, and he had to bite back a sharp reply. ‘Am I really that-’</p><p>‘Stupid? Of course not,’ Yuzu scoffed, her disdain obvious and her laugh sounding just a bit too strained. ‘Didn’t you finish top of your class at university?’</p><p>‘... Who taught you sarcasm?’</p><p>Yuzu lips were only a thin mysterious line as he took his left hand in hers, and again - he couldn’t help but notice the pattern of blues shimmering under the sun. <em>Touch yourself with that hand</em> - a chill ran up his spine and all the way to the nape of his neck at the memory of that night, and Ichigo couldn’t help but clear his throat a little as his sister dragged him back to their usual picnic area.  </p><p>‘But you did promise, though,’ she recalled all of a sudden, looking up at him with an innocent gaze - her eyes had always been softer than the sharper color he had ended up with. Deep brown had bled even more to molten gold after Ichigo had been dragged to the spirit world, whereas Yuzu’s had always been that clear, unaltered and sweet honey color. She was more their mother than any of them, just as Karin was all Isshin’s sharp angles and ink-black knowing eyes. </p><p>‘Promise yourself, at least,’ his sister insisted, pressing his big hand into hers. </p><p>Ichigo wanted to gesture wildly at her for a second, to tell her that he couldn’t, really, because there was <em>nothing</em> - and stopping himself just at the right time, his mouth hanging half-open but thankfully not letting out any compromising word or sound or name.</p><p>He had never considered it really seriously before, that they could be a thing - him and Grimmjow.</p><p>‘Or just - <em>try</em>,’ Yuzu pushed, the wind blowing her hair into her eyes despite her straw hat.</p><p>‘Will you two hurry up,’ came their father’s booming voice, ‘we are hungry over here! Not all of us are strong, young adults -’</p><p>Then he started bickering over something as trivial as <em>hot or cold rice, which one is better</em> with Karin, who dutifully listened to all his arguments as long as it kept him distracted enough for her to steal all the sweat potato croquettes Yuzu had made this morning. Ichigo couldn’t blame her - the smell had been heavenly, filling his nostrils deeply as he’d pushed open the door of the Kurosaki household, a few hours ago.  </p><p>Ichigo settled down next to his father, who made a pained noise when he realized Karin’s little scheme - Yuzu’s concerned gaze was still heavy on him at first, and though she seemed reluctant to let go at first, she eventually did after a minute or two. Whatever happened to him wasn’t important as long as they were happy, and happier days would come for sure; no need for an empty promise or a fake compromise. </p><p><em>I’m happy now</em>, Ichigo thought, willing away the longing and the loneliness. </p><p>. </p><p>After an afternoon spent eating, playing cards and lazing under the sun like a lizard, unlocking his door and going home felt a bit dull and boring - his father had proposed he stayed the night, but Ichigo had politely refused, wishing for nothing but the serene calm of his plants and the heady smell of newly bloomed flowers, of old books and lingering dust. </p><p>It had still not rained today, but there was a familiar dampness in the air that suggested it would not be long, now; the sun was setting slowly over Karakura, casting long shadows in the streets. It was barely enough to still see clearly inside of his office, but he’d managed to reach the door to the stairs without turning the lights on - Ichigo dropped his keys on the console table in the entrance, as well as the bag of threats Yuzu had insisted he took back home with him. There had been no blueberry muffins and of course - <em>of course</em> his treacherous mind had to think about Grimmjow’s sweet tooth. </p><p>He fumbled around, looking for the coat hanger and utterly failing for a few humiliating seconds - <em>I hang my coat here every day, come on</em> - but what the low light of his office allowed him to see clearly, however, was the sleeping form of <em>someone </em>on his couch. </p><p>‘Oh, fuck me,’ Ichigo lamented openly, facepalming in the semi-darkness before clamping his palm on his mouth - the wording had not been deliberate, but it still burnt his tongue a bit to voice it. It made it - <em>weird</em>. It made it weird. </p><p>What were the chances, he thought, admitting defeat when he looked again and allowed himself to notice more of him: the tangled blue hair, the long white pants and not so pristine jacket. Grimmjow was sound asleep, even with all the noise Ichigo had made, and maybe he had been for a few hours- </p><p>‘Grimmjow,’ he tried, and calling his name in such an impossibly intimate moment felt entirely too much, eerie even; kneeling near the couch, Ichigo wondered if he shouldn’t just shake him awake, touch his shoulder, or- </p><p>Sleep still clung to his mouth when the Espada mumbled a soft <em>yes</em>, stretching his arms above his head, rubbing at his eyes; it made Ichigo’s heart leap to his throat, and he let it - just a little, just this once. </p><p>‘You should go home,’ came his own whispering voice.</p><p>There was a small, protesting sound as Grimmjow turned around, fumbling with the cushions and almost falling off the couch entirely - Ichigo tried his best not to laugh when the Espada’s gaze bored into his, a bit more alert now. </p><p>‘Kurosaki,’ he said, and Ichigo inclined his head to the side like an owl, wondering what was the correct answer to that, if there had ever been any. </p><p>All he could come up with was a very lame and uncool, ‘It’s late.’ </p><p>‘Sun’s still up,’ Grimmjow argued petulantly, letting his head fall back on the cushion, his half-closed eyes glinting like a cat’s in the low light.</p><p>‘Not for long,’ Ichigo pointed out, sitting back on his heels. Maybe they could just stay like this, even if it wasn’t for long, even if it meant nothing at all - </p><p>‘Where the fuck were you,’ Grimmjow asked, the deep rumble of his voice filling the whole room; he did not seem very intent on leaving. </p><p>‘I went to see my mom,’ Ichigo answered, a sad smile tugging at his lips - he forced it away, not wanting to invite grief in his heart now. </p><p>There had always been a raw intensity to Grimmjow’s gaze, and not only because of their uncommon color. There was that vivid green line under his eyes and the sharp twist of his mouth, his darker lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked; there was too much to see it all - but there was none of the customary pity or unease Ichigo had gotten used to whenever he spoke about his mother. </p><p>‘Did you want anything?’ He found himself asking, shuddering slightly. </p><p>Grimmjow just looked at him, his features impossibly soft in the declining light; for a moment, it was like he did not remember his own name, his blue eyes searching Ichigo’s, and that moment lasted, and -</p><p>‘Yeah,’ the Espada finally breathed, pressing his palm to his forehead, dragging his fingers through his tousled hair; it made him look - not <em>boyish</em>, Grimmjow was anything but that, but soft. <em>Calm</em>, Ichigo’s mind supplied unhelpfully. </p><p>His eyes went to the sunflowers, whose shapes were blurred and not so colorful that late in the evening, but still felt radiant especially this close - the tansy was a delightful taunt, as if to say war would come for you if you ever tried to be less than what those radiant sunflowers meant. </p><p>What sun had he seen, to get so many? And - if that passion Grimmjow felt was ever to fade, would they wither and disappear as well? Or would they turn bitter and sour, fester underneath his skin until he clawed them off? </p><p>‘It’s prettier than yours, right,’ Grimmjow drawled, noticing his long stare. ‘Just admit it already.’</p><p>Ichigo’s laugher came out gleeful, amused, light and relaxed - because this was unrealistic as hell, them, this. It made no sense at all. </p><p>‘But I’ve got more than you,’ Ichigo argued, feeling his heart ignite at the sight of Grimmjow’s lazy, unchallenged smile. </p><p>‘But you don’t have mine,’ the Espada decided in a dismissive tone, not bothering to sit or to even look at him. </p><p>Ichigo scoffed at that. ‘It’s just a matter of time,’ he said disdainfully, shrugging it off as a minor inconvenience. </p><p>He couldn’t very well see in the near darkness of the room, but managed to reach the paper bag of treats Yuzu had packed for him - if they were going to talk some more, he wasn’t going to be a shitty guest. Not that it mattered much when Arrancars had no idea how social etiquette worked. Ichigo liked to think they appreciated it, in their own way - Sung-Sun and Nel certainly didn’t mind the occasional cup of tea or how easy it was to borrow his books. </p><p>‘Before you ask - no, there’s no blueberry muffins,’ Ichigo sighed as Grimmjow’s nostrils flared.</p><p>He set the bag on the table, grabbing a cushion from the other end of the couch before sitting on it in front of the coffee table - in that position, it almost reached his sternum. It was weird. But he had no idea what to say, and food seemed as good a guess as any. </p><p>‘You have no taste,’ Grimmjow lamented, holding out his open palm anyway. </p><p>It wasn’t his left hand, so no distracting flower marks there. From that angle, this close, Ichigo could make out the fine lines of his face, could almost touch his elbow with his shoulder and wondered why he didn’t just do it. </p><p>‘You are the one with no taste,’ Ichigo replied pointedly instead, pushing an overstuffed dorayaki in his hand.</p><p>He unpacked all of the sugary food, placing them in neat little piles on the coffee table; he fell back against the couch, and stretched out his legs under the table to get a little more comfortable. One of the windows was slightly ajar - Yoruichi most have been there, at some point. The spider in the corner of the ceiling had woven a new web. Ichigo breathed in the sweet smell of cakes and flowers, allowed himself to get lost in the comforting blank noise of rain starting to fall.</p><p>It felt good to be home. </p><p>‘Don’t you get all gloomy on me, Kurosaki,’ Grimmjow grumbled somewhere behind him, to his right. </p><p>‘It’s alright,’ replied Ichigo, his gaze lost on air and nothingness. </p><p>Then he turned a little, to face him, and met his eyes; it just felt right to do it, but Ichigo longed for more, and less at the same time. </p><p>‘Try this one,’ he offered then, willing his smile to be reassuring but not overly so. He pushed a black sesame cookie into Grimmjow’s knuckles, putting crumbs all over them both; the Espada’s brow furrowed as he bit into it, and for a second he didn’t look quite sure of the taste. </p><p>‘<em>No</em>,’ came his disgusted reply not a heartbeat later, and he hastily threw the offending cookie all the way across the room before making a face at Ichigo, who really did his best not to openly laugh. ‘Stop that, you sound like Nel,’ Grimmjow groaned at him, sounding slightly pissed while he tried to get all the little sesame seeds out of his teeth.</p><p>Then, all Ichigo could think of was how badly he wanted to kiss him - to reach out for his lips, to press himself close against him on that wretched couch that was too small to fit them both; it was heavy and hot and pooling low in his belly, that want, their impossible closeness and the weird domesticity of it all. How do you ask an Espada out? How do you even start hinting that you’d like to fuck him in your bed, <em>upstairs</em>, to put your marked hands above his, to lace your fingers as you bit the tender flesh of his neck and  -</p><p>Ichigo inhaled sharply through his nose, and pressed the heels of his palm against his eyelids. </p><p>‘What’s this one,’ Grimmjow chirped, reaching out for another dorayaki, probably to wash off the sour taste of the sesame cookie; he had already stuffed half of it in his mouth when Ichigo realized what he was talking about.</p><p>‘Which one,’ he deadpanned, waving his arm and its many flowers. </p><p>‘The yellow one. I have it too, just, fucking here -’</p><p>He was yanking at this jacket, near the shoulder, his sticky fingers leaving a smear of anko near his collarbone; and sure, there was a discrete patch of coppery flowers in the crook of his shoulder -</p><p>‘Jonquils,’ he muttered, realizing a bit late that he had closed the distance a bit, and that they were almost touching; <em>shit </em>-</p><p>‘Whatever,’ Grimmjow huffed, pushing his clothes back and letting himself fall again on the cushions. ‘Some on my hands too. Pesky little shits.’</p><p>Ichigo was still trying to grasp what he had just seen. Heard. He blurted a little soundless ‘What’, before examining his arms under every angle, looking for the tell-tale yellow or even the white (the color made no difference for this one) but the meaning, oh my god - <em>there</em>. </p><p>Nestled right between his thumb and index, well, closer to his thumb really, was a single jonquil that looked back at him intently. It was white and yellow, not really that visible even surrounded by all the colors that his right hand bore, but it was definitely there.</p><p>And it was <em>new</em>. </p><p>‘Really?’ He heard Grimmjow’s annoyed groan, and all the words that followed, but none of them registered.</p><p>Sure, it wasn’t a big deal, not as big as some other, more concerning plants flowering in even more obvious areas - at least it wasn’t on his face or at his throat, thank God - </p><p>‘Ichigo.’</p><p>It made him turn too fast to Grimmjow, his name foreign but still lovely on those lips; he looked into his eyes, found boredness and curiosity in equal measure in that sea of azure and was suddenly very glad that Arrancars did not have <em>a clue</em> what some flowers meant.</p><p>Jonquils were well-known. They were obvious, <em>simple</em>, and tended to sprout quickly, spontaneously even, and then disappear overnight - <em>not here to stay</em>, one of his books said, outlining their rather elusive and capricious character. </p><p>‘It’s just flowery shit,’ Grimmjow tried, an eyebrow raised. </p><p><em>But not those</em>, Ichigo wanted to argue, <em>not on me - not there,</em> he desperately wanted to add. </p><p>Then, his eyes fell on Grimmjow’s shoulder, where that exact same bitch was staring at him through clothing, just as smug as the coriander flower had been. Still was. </p><p>Ichigo didn’t know whether to be angry or exhausted or both. ‘It’s not - it’s just,’ he breathed in, breathed out, ‘pesky little shits,’ he repeated the Espada’s words, unable to find meaning to any other word. </p><p>‘So what,’ Grimmjow insisted, ‘tell me.’</p><p>Ichigo swallowed, and decided he was too mortified to tell. ‘They’ll be gone in a few days anyway,’ he decided to say, feigning annoyance and really not about to tell him more. </p><p>‘Come on, don’t be a bitch,’ Grimmjow pushed anyway, leaning towards Ichigo, and suddenly very close.</p><p>His breath was sweet and warm, his eyes luminous in the half-light; outside, the pitter-patter of the rain was no more but a far away sound, though its smell had already filled the room, mixing swiftly with all the other fragrances. </p><p>It would be so easy to reach up, to fist his hand on this white jacket he’d seen too many times in dreams and memories alike; to bring that mouth on his and drink its every word and breath, to <em>devour </em>even -</p><p>‘Hey!!’ Ichigo yelped, twisting his neck - Grimmjow’s hand was fisted in his hair, but not painfully so, just keeping him here, looking up at him.</p><p>The angle was weird but not wrong, his head almost resting against the Espada’s torso as his left hand held him. He was propped on the right one, his elbow lost amidst the plush cushions; and he looked so <em>pleased</em>, all teeth and claws, that it made Ichigo’s heart ricochet wildly.</p><p>‘I’ll just make you,’ Grimmjow promised in a low tone, looking predatory in the soon to be moonlight. </p><p>A shuddering breath escaped his lips, and this was it -<em> there’s no surviving you</em>, Ichigo thought, ignoring the strain on the muscles of his neck when he moved, bringing teeth rather than lips to the Espada’s maw of teeth of bone.</p><p>There was a low, rumbling sound he recognized as a purr, and then: ‘For fuck’s sake-’</p><p>The gentle press of lips against his own made Ichigo sigh, and Grimmjow licked a breathless moan right out of his lips, his warm hand pressed against Ichigo’s neck, his nails slightly digging in his skin.</p><p>‘There,’ he exhaled smugly against his mouth, laying down on his back but not releasing Ichigo, whose mind had gone blank, and ignited, and then gone blank again; he could hear his heart hammering in his ears, feel the tremors in his insides and that nameless desire so close to break the surface of his skin -</p><p>He rose on his knees, next to the couch, rearranging their awkward position in something that felt less complicated and <em>looked </em>- looked so deeply into Grimmjow’s eyes that a single thought came out, playing on a loop in his mind during this moment of intense vertigo - <em>again, again</em>, was all he could think, as if his throat was parched and he had just found water. </p><p>‘I- it’s-’</p><p>The words tried to take form on his tongue but couldn’t escape his mouth; Ichigo was drawn to Grimmjow’s lips, and everything sparked anew when he could finally press this kiss to his open mouth, feel all of it again - the sharp tingle of his bite, the warm wetness of his tongue, the brush of his breath against his cheek and mouth; the Espada fisted a hand in his shirt, and brought him even closer.</p><p>He could do this every second of every day, devour, revel in the wet sounds of their kissing, brush his fingers against the bone jaw that graced Grimmjow’s cheek, push his nails a little into his hairline and get a pleased, warning bite because of it - it lasted forever, the whole night, and so much less than that at the same time. </p><p>‘There,’ Ichigo let out, in a mocking, breathless tone. His face was nicely flushed, and he did not bother hiding this hunger as he pressed their foreheads together. He brushed another kiss at the corner of Grimmjow’s mouth, wanting more, the exhilaration absolute, maddening -</p><p>‘Do that again,’ the Espada demanded, his fingers sliding across his jaw, his thumb pushing in his cheek hard enough to bruise; <em>do that again</em>, it was almost too much. </p><p>Ichigo chuckled, winded but not about stop. ‘I need to breathe,’ he half-joked, bringing his mouth to Grimmjow’s ear. </p><p>‘Come here,’ was his bossy reply, then the push at his waist to join him on the couch; a warm palm settled at the back of his left thigh, and Ichigo could feel its searing warmth all the way through his pants, to his skin. </p><p>There were a few seconds of pause as they shuffled, finding a better position, locking eyes, and Ichigo wished he still had long hair - his left hand looked like nothing and everything this close to Grimmjow’s hair, the white orchid taunting but not that mysterious anymore. </p><p>
  <em>How long have you been dreaming of me, I wonder?</em>
</p><p>‘I’m not sharing you,’ the Espada said intently, his gaze a scorching shade of blue; he dug his claws in the tender flesh of Ichigo’s thigh, who barely stopped a whimper from escaping his lips. </p><p>‘I know,’ he whispered, his mind spinning - <em>how many new lime blossoms and coriander flowers, now</em>, Ichigo mused. </p><p>Grimmjow had brought his thumb to his lips, and brushed against it with as if reliving that kiss again. ‘Took you long enough,’ he said, his tone mocking but his gaze caressing.</p><p>‘Shut up,’ Ichigo groaned, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. </p><p>Grimmjow laughed, a full-bellied laugh, ‘Nel said you’d take convincing -’</p><p>‘I’m not as sensible as everyone thinks -’</p><p>The Espada threw him a look that meant <em>please</em>. </p><p>‘Ok, maybe a little,’ Ichigo admitted petulantly, his whole face hot. ‘<em>But</em>,’ he insisted, ‘not for you. I kissed you first.’</p><p>Grimmjow scoffed at that, ‘I’m not calling <em>that </em>a kiss.’</p><p>‘Please, yours wasn’t that great either,’ Ichigo said derisively, deciding to sit rather than stay on all four above the Espada. ‘Move,’ he asked, already pushing Grimmjow’s limbs out of the way.</p><p>‘Oh yeah, <em>not that great</em>,’ Grimmjow repeated, the irritated undertone of his voice making Ichigo pause for a second.</p><p>‘Good thing it’s not the last,’ Ichigo said meekly, feeling very uncomfortable at this moment - <em>I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, too </em>seemed a bit, well, a huge understatement. ‘We’re doing this, right?’ He asked, gesturing between the two of them as if they were not tangled into each other and had not shared a heated kiss a few seconds earlier. ‘I mean, if you don’t want to -’</p><p>Grimmjow arched an eyebrow, frankly amused. ‘Why the fuck would you think that?’</p><p>‘Ehhh, it’s just -’</p><p>‘What?’ </p><p>‘I didn’t expect you to - I don’t know, want <em>this</em>,’ Ichigo mumbled, his fingers playing with the hem of Grimmjow’s jacket. He was half sitting in his lap, but not uncomfortably so, and he should really stop acting like an idiot - then that mouth pushed against his throat, under his ear, nibbed at his jaw, and he couldn’t think clearly anymore.</p><p>His sharp intake of breath made Grimmjow’s body shake with laughter. ‘I fucking <em>want it</em>,’ came his low growl, and for a second it was entirely too much.</p><p>‘... Yeah?’</p><p>Grimmjow sighed against his collarbone. ‘Yeah. Stop talking.’</p><p>He nuzzled at his neck, inhaling deeply and holding him tighter, one hand splayed on Ichigo’s back and the other at his thigh; he pressed their bodies close, an unsatisfied hum escaping his lips as he did so. </p><p>‘Relax,’ the Espada muttered against his skin, his breath sending shivers everywhere; the hairs on the back of his neck rose as both hands reached his hips and thighs, as Grimmjow’s mouth found his again. </p><p>‘You stop talking,’ Ichigo replied right after, pushing the jacket off the Espada’s shoulders; he cupped the jaw of bones, snaked a hand underneath the collar of the undershirt he wore - the scar he had given him still felt raw against his fingertips, even surrounded by all those littles touches of color. </p><p>He gently rocked their hips together, emerging breathless and hungrier even from their kiss; his irises were blown back, the blue looking like a ring of neon fire in the low light - and Ichigo drank the small gasp that escaped Grimmjow’s lips when he did so again, tentative and slow, the heat pooling low in his belly as he pushed his hardened member against the Espada’s.</p><p> </p><p>A pleased humming sound was all the warning Ichigo got before he was the one with his back pushed back against the many cushions of his couch, Grimmjow sinking on top of him in a heated embrace; he could feel <em>all </em>of him as the Espada settled above him, bracing his arms on each side of his face, leaning down to press an almost chaste kiss to his lips. He pushed his hips against him, with no hint of the gentle hesitation Ichigo had shown, but rather a slow, languid push that made Ichigo’s back arch and his breath catch in his throat.</p><p>The flashes of a touch that used to be imaginary came back hauntingly, the real thing every bit as good; up close, this was a whole new world of sensations that made heat flare all over his body, that coaxed pleased moans out of him so effortlessly it felt wrong for it to be so good-</p><p>He wanted to push a hand between them, down that scar and all the way to the waistband of Grimmjow’s pants - the mere of idea of touching him made Ichigo stifle a whimper, biting at his lips as their bodies ground together in a relentless dance. He wasn’t close - this felt too pleasurable to ever stop.  </p><p>‘Ever jerked yourself off thinking about this,’ came Grimmjow’s breathless taunt at his ear, his teeth biting at the soft skin, his hand tugging Ichigo’s shirt up to caress his side - his nails dug deeper in his shoulders, and he kept twisting under him for better friction. </p><p>‘Fuck you,’ Ichigo articulated in-between gasps, feeling way too hot; everything, <em>everything </em>from the sweet pressure building up in his pants to the wet kisses pressed against his open mouth he welcomed, drunk, so when his eyes met Grimmjow’s there was no lie to tell - ‘Let me just -’</p><p>Grimmjow’s smirk was all teeth as he pushed against him, eliciting a soft whimper. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, his thumb rubbing circles at Ichigo’s nipple under his shirt. ‘Com’on,’ he growled against his ear, thunderous and deep. </p><p>Ichigo let out a shuddering breath, but did not answer. </p><p>‘Then what about this,’ Grimmjow asked instead, his fingers leaving the sensitive flesh of his nipple alone and reaching Ichigo’s for his right hand. </p><p>The little jonquil was already half-gone. If only the coriander flower on his thigh had been that sensible... ‘The flower, right- I just need to check something first,’ Ichigo said he yanked at Grimmjow’s black undershirt far enough to see the patch of coppery jonquils at the end of his collar bone - only to find it gone. </p><p> </p><p>Pesky little shits indeed. </p><p>‘Yours is already gone,’ Ichigo mused, unsurprised but still a little envious. ‘That’s their usual -,’ he started in a low breath, pausing as Grimmjow rearranged himself against him in a way that suggested he wasn’t moving again any time soon. </p><p>Then, he pawed at his chest, and mouthed something against the skin of his jaw. ‘What do they fucking mean, Ichigo,’ the emphasis on his name made his heart pound in his ears in a familiar way. </p><p>‘... It’s not what they mean, really,’ Ichigo replied a bit drily, trying to fit his hands and arms somewhere and feeling very desperate about it for a second.</p><p>Grimmjow groaned something, and swiftly caught his right wrist to just dump it in his hair. It made Ichigo laugh a little in embarrassment, wondering if he shouldn’t just suggest his bed instead of the couch. </p><p>The thought made his mind go blank for second, which Grimmjow <em>had </em>to notice. ‘Focus,’ he reminded him in an amused tone, all while snaking a hand up Ichigo’s shirt again. </p><p>‘This isn’t helping,’ Ichigo deadpanned, sighing deeply and trying to remember what it was he was trying to say before being <em>grossly </em>interrupted. </p><p>It caused Grimmjow to pause with an overly dramatic sigh, and the tingle of his breath against Ichigo’s skin made him arch his neck back, made him bare his throat; his eyes opened on the curious landscape that was his upside-down office. He could see the underside of the leaves, the fading stems of some flowers, and a little piece of the early night sky through the closest window. There were no stars, as usual, for their terrestrial lights shut out everything coming from above.</p><p>‘It’s a question to the world,’ he heard himself whisper after a moment, as if what jonquils were was a well-kept secret, something you wouldn’t tell just anyone; as if the whole Internet didn’t know already; as if some of his classmates in high school had not been mocked for it. </p><p>He remembered the ones gracing Inoue’s fingers when she had confessed her feelings to him, her white hand stark against the darker ceramic of her mug; he had not noticed the little patches of yellow at first, nor their hopeful meaning. </p><p>‘Not a funny one,’ Ichigo muttered, trying to sound dismissive but not quite managing it, tentatively brushing his hand through Grimmjow’s blue locks of hair. ‘The textbook definition of jonquils is ‘return my affection’. Or, as one of my sisters like to say, ‘please love me back’. They come and go, a bit like clouds do.’</p><p>‘Pesky little shits,’ Grimmjow concluded in a final tone, pressing a kiss to his bared throat.</p><p>There was a hint of tongue, something warm and wet, barely there; Ichigo welcomed the familiar flare of desire that washed through him, that feeling of something coiling around his insides like a new form of hunger, of fire - an unquenchable flame, all-consuming. He held Grimmjow tighter, laying his cheek against the crown of his head and breathing in his Hueco Mundo scent of cold salt and iron, and hidden amongst it the flowery fragrance of his office.</p><p>A contented purr rumbled deep in Grimmjow’s chest. ‘I still want those muffins.’</p><p>‘Shut <em>up</em>,’ Ichigo said, annoyed but smiling in spite of himself. </p><p>.</p><p>In retrospect, Ichigo didn’t quite know how he’d managed not to let out a startled yelp. He could only see her upside-down, not very clearly because there was, well, <em>the sun</em> - but a severe grimace of disappointment was tugging her lips <em>very </em>low and making her golden eyes twitch. Then, she had stepped out in front of the window, and her entire silhouette had been so beautifully outlined by the sun that Ichigo had forgotten all about yesterday evening for a moment.</p><p>‘You didn’t even fuck him,’ Yoruichi finally let out, dumbfounded and more than a little exasperated. </p><p>Ichigo blinked at her, unfazed. ‘What,’ he articulated sleepy, irritated even, feeling too warm and too content to even <em>think </em>about moving. </p><p>‘Oh my God,’ she breathed, hiding half of her face in her hands and looking up at the ceiling in clear desperation.</p><p>Grimmjow reached blindly at the floor, then promptly threw his balled-up jacket at her. Yoruichi sidestepped it easily and it floated slowly to the floor in a rather dramatic, slow-motion way - Ichigo felt Grimmjow’s chin press a bit painfully into his skin, right above his collarbone. </p><p>‘Fuck off,’ he roared in a low, predatory voice that was full of deadly promises.</p><p>Yoruichi smiled back at him, her lips curling above her pointy teeth in a showy but meaningless way - but upside-down, it looked anything but careless. Her yellow gaze was not on him, instead focused slightly off to his left where Grimmjow’s neon-blue eyes were. </p><p>‘Fine,’ she relented after a second or two, picking up the jacket from the floor and throwing it at them, her arm making a slow, elegant arch as she did so; it fell above their heads, hiding her poised form from view. ‘I’ll see you later, Ichigo,’ he heard anyway, and in his mind still blurry with sleep and warmth, it did not really register that she could have been here to tell him something. </p><p>Grimmjow pushed the jacket off their faces, bringing the sun back and with it a painful blindness that Yoruichi’s body was not there to protect him from - it was not late, but it was also Saturday, which meant there was no rush to get up.</p><p><em>Not like I could do it anyway</em>, Ichigo mused as Grimmjow pushed himself up on his elbows, aggravated by such an unkind awakening but nowhere near the kind of volatile fury Ichigo had come to know well a few years ago. He looked content, if a little lost; though not that lost, as he easily found Ichigo’s mouth. He brushed a sweet kiss at the corner of his lips, and Ichigo liked to think he could feel his smile as he did so, as if it had always been that easy and effortless to be together. </p><p>Yesterday’s hesitations were gone as he put a hand to his neck and his mouth on his; it felt like drinking the sun right out of the sky, and his kiss was met with an eagerness that bordered on hunger - would he be devoured one day, or would he be the one to devour?</p><p>Grimmjow hummed something against his mouth, teeth sinking playfully on Ichigo’s lower lip as he did so; ‘I have to go back,’ he said, kissing him again breathless and hungry. </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Ichigo agreed in between-kisses, his mouth swollen, his fingertips tracing the sharp bones of Grimmjow’s mask. </p><p>‘I’m not done with you,’ the Espada breathed against his ear before disappearing. </p><p>Ichigo laughed a bit wildly at the empty room, wondering if he shouldn’t just go back to sleep and dream the next part, or last the part again and again; his heart was beating wildly and he could feel it hammering in his entire body - there was a hot tingle everywhere Grimmjow had touched him, pressed against him, kissed him. Ichigo breathed in sharply, his lips parting and inviting air inside; it tasted lightly of rain and flowers and wild things alike, which did nothing to cool the feverish warmth spreading through him. They had kissed and touched and - <em>I’m not done with you</em>.</p><p>Another manic bit of laughter escaped him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In which things are simple, and quiet :3</p><p>Sorry for the extra delay, my personal life got in the way a little (a lot). <br/>I should be able to go back to the usual updating schedule, now :)</p><p>I'd also like to thank you all, very much, a lot, more than I ever could for your wonderful and continued support! You guys rock :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain had resumed somewhere around noon, turning the sky a silvery shade of grey and making the heady scent of petrichor rise in the air; Ichigo inhaled deeply as he pushed open the patio door that led to his small balcony. It was tiny and nestled amidst his neighbours’ - he grew no plants there, for there was little sunlight and too much humidity. His office felt like the best place to do it anyway.</p><p>Ichigo couldn’t see the entire town from here - not really high enough, not really at the right spot - but still, it felt reassuring and <em>home</em>, in an undescriptible way. The air was cool against his skin, though it did nothing to quiet the wild, wild race of his mind.</p><p>
  <em>I’m not done with you.</em>
</p><p>Ichigo pulled at the collar of his shirt with his index finger, wishing the crisp breeze could seep under his skin as well and not make him <em>want </em>everything so much. He had never hoped or dared dream for this, or not so much anyway - maybe a quick fuck at some point, bruised lips and bite marks, the ghost of clawed fingertips at his throat. Still, if that turned out to be what Grimmjow ultimately wanted… Then sure, Ichigo wouldn’t push for more. You can’t make someone love you, right?  Ichigo rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pushing those thoughts away, ignoring the way his heart <em>retched </em>- how much stronger could this get, if after a few kisses and easy words he was this hooked already?</p><p>Bright spots were dancing in front of his eyes when it started raining again. </p><p>.</p><p>The weekend had been slow and uneventful - Ichigo had spent the entire Sunday reading in his bed, not even dressing up and munching on leftover onigiri. Jun had emailed him the results of Himawari’s recent tests and other theories from Kyoto colleagues. He had not liked either. </p><p>‘Is that -’</p><p>‘Peaches, yes,’ cut his patient, hastily pulling his sleeve down again.</p><p>Karin had once pointed to him that peaches looked like a round, inviting pair of ass. Of course, Ichigo had to remember it at that precise moment and it made his mind go blank a little at the thought of Grimmjow’s-</p><p>‘You feel loved and cared for,’ he dutifully recited, feeling like a student again. ‘How long has the branch been there? Some blossoms have yet to flower, am I correct?’</p><p>The man, in his fifties, seemed overly bothered by it - peaches usually mean durability, good things to come and a nice, long spring, though it will be summer soon. Ichigo was a bit perplexed, but not really surprised - not after a few years of experience. </p><p>‘In China, legends say that if you feed on a peach tree’s flower, you become immortal,’ he said instead, wondering if he should bring up its meaning in Japan. The man must already know anyway - few patients came without an idea of what their flowers were or meant, nowadays. </p><p>‘I’ve read that,’ the man drawled, unimpressed. </p><p>‘So tell me,’ Ichigo replied, doing his best impression of Yoruichi’s disdainful tone, ‘what do they mean to you?’</p><p>His patient’s face went still, and a bit cold; he had not expected the question. Ichigo did not use the same tricks on everyone - asking wouldn’t lead him anywhere with someone already convinced he knew the truth. <em>As if there was only one truth</em>, Ichigo mused, eyeing his own overgrown hands. </p><p>‘Virginity,’ his patient all but spat in the silence that followed Ichigo’s question.</p><p>One of his eyebrows rose, and he inclined his head on the side, feeling like an owl. ‘Is that all?’</p><p>‘No.’ There was an audible swallow. ‘Loyalty, as well.’</p><p>‘To whom?’</p><p>‘Not the right person,’ the man sighed, the corners of his mouth dropping low. ‘And I am not inexperienced, so we should absolutely ignore this part.’</p><p>‘Are you experienced with that other person, the wrong one? If yes, then absolutely, we will ignore it,’ Ichigo easily agreed, watching his patient relax a little at the dismissal but not really hearing the words. So he added, ‘If not - if you’ve never kissed them, or -’ his patient face was slowly decomposing, ‘- slept with them, then virginity makes sense. The only difference is that it applies to one person. The wrong person.’</p><p>The man sucked in a breath, clenching his teeth. </p><p>Ichigo wasn’t fond of those patients, who thought they knew it all already thanks to the otherworldly powers of the internet or magazines, and yet so easily dismissed something as obvious or relevant as the meaning of peaches. Interpreting a garden is not a science for some, who can’t understand the fluctuant meaning of something they think should be fixated in time, and unmoving.</p><p>‘It is not necessarily sexual either. A ‘first time’ can apply to many things - it does not necessarily mean holding hands or kissing,’ Ichigo explained, pushing away the thought of his own first times from last Friday and early Saturday morning, and the many others yet to come. ‘It could mean something as trivial as going to the zoo. Something you never did together.’</p><p>‘Right, that makes sense,’ the man agreed carefully. ‘It depends who the person is.’</p><p>Ichigo nodded, but didn’t pry - if his patient had called him or her ‘the wrong person’, then it didn’t mean anything good to come. Maybe difficult decisions, instead. He had seen men and women falling in love with someone else than their husband or wife, and their flowers weren’t as secretive about it than they’d wished. They were loud, in the only way flowers could: in bright colors, in complicated yet beautiful shapes. In their overabundance, even. His own left hand was a textbook example of all the things Ichigo had never said but felt anyway. It told the world all about his quiet love, his secret devotion, his immortal desire.</p><p>‘I can’t help you decide, and it isn’t my job to push you in one direction or the other,’ Ichigo said. ‘But it is here, and it is not going away.’ <em>There’s only so much I can do</em>, Ichigo almost added, but the words died on his tongue when the man sighed deeply, in an exhausted way that felt eerily familiar. </p><p>There was a sadness in him, and mingled with it a profound resignation born of necessity and abandon - Ichigo couldn’t make the flowers say things they didn’t, though sometimes he wished he could. That man had not come to him looking for answers, but for an excuse not to do what he felt was wrong - he had probably asked other gardeners the same question, shown them those same blossoming flowers and ripe fruits. </p><p>Those peaches would fall off the branch, and out of their rotten core something fouler would grow; maybe the dark, leathery petals of a rice lily for this man would see his own choices as a curse plaguing him and his own. Maybe they’d bloom either way, no matter if he followed his feelings or fought against them. </p><p>‘There’s no right answer,’ the man had come to that conclusion on his own. </p><p>Ichigo offered him a poor excuse of a smile, wishing he could do more. ‘There’s no wrong answer, either,’ he insisted. </p><p>Another appointment was booked for next week, and another one for the week after; maybe this would help enough. Ichigo hoped so, even though he knew very well that multiplying appointments did not mean an easier recovery or a faster fading. </p><p>‘Hullo,’ a little voice said as he greeted another man, younger this time.</p><p>Little Himawari was his last appointment for the day, so he welcomed her inside with cakes and apple juice, and a cup of tea for her father who looked very uncomfortable. He was rubbing his sweaty palms on his thighs, creasing the fabric a little. </p><p>‘That cat is not here today?’ Himawari inquired, looking around for Yoruichi who had been absent throughout the day. Even Sung-Sun had not shown her face, which made Ichigo wonder if the other Arrancars had bothered Grimmjow about his night here - Yoruichi had mercifully spared him after Saturday morning. </p><p>‘She had things to do,’ Ichigo answered, winking at the little girls and eyeing her wrists. It had been raining for the last few days, which made it easier to hide the marks with long sleeves; her parents must have been thankful for that small mercy, but summer wouldn’t be so lenient. </p><p>‘Can she be here next time?’</p><p>‘I’ll ask her,’ Ichigo promised, though not entirely sure Yoruichi would show up by next week. </p><p>He could maybe ask Grimmjow to stay longer than a night, and not on the couch this time. </p><p>‘Please,’ Himawari insisted with a smile, which made her father a bit less tense and uncomfortable. </p><p>They chatted a little, about her school, her friends, her other occupations which amounted to drawing and petting all the cats; her father had taken her to the aquarium recently, and she had drawn all kind of tropical fishes for days. </p><p>Then, Himawari had asked again about his left hand. </p><p>‘Well, it’s - a bit complicated,’ Ichigo replied truthfully, a bit awkwardly even; vivid memories of the other night bloomed, and made his heart race a little. ‘It means I really like someone,’ he added, feeling really ridiculous. </p><p>This, however, made the little girl’s day.</p><p>‘Are you going to marry,’ she asked immediately, which made her father laugh wholeheartedly. </p><p>Contrary to the mother, he let his daughter talk and never interrupted their chitchat, however silly it became - sipping his tea and being respectfully silent, Himawari’s father seemed content to only listen. </p><p>‘It’s a bit soon,’ Ichigo tried instead, not voicing his real opinion on the matter. He did not really feel like explaining to a nine year old that marrying an Arrancar was not in his plans for the foreseeable future. If it was even possible. </p><p>‘Mama says you have to date for a few months first,’ Himawari declared approvingly, nodding to herself with that kind of self-assurance only children could muster.</p><p>‘Right,’ Ichigo agreed, his mouth suddenly very dry at the thought of dating Grimmjow.</p><p>Was that what they were doing? They had not discussed anything, after all, and certainly not if they were exclusive or - well, for lack of better wording, <em>dating</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Then, as Himawari reached out to grab one of the cupcakes, Ichigo caught a glimpse of her wrist - the ghostly leaves of a few weeks ago now looked rainbow-colored, shimmering a little under the white light of the ceiling lights. </p><p>‘My wife told me about the flowers, but I must admit - I underestimated it,’ said the father, sharing a knowing smile with his daughter who all but pouted at him, muttering a small ‘I told you so’ under her breath.</p><p>‘It’s only a few months old,’ Ichigo assured him hastily, then wondered why he felt the need to excuse his own flowers to a stranger. ‘I was just as surprised,’ he insisted even, willing he’d just stop talking. </p><p><em>Maybe you love</em> <em>him</em>, came the treacherous thought, all of that blue marking his skin reminding him of Grimmjow’s piercing eyes gazing into his own. </p><p>It made him pause. </p><p>‘The rest is a secret, I know,’ Himawari whispered to him in a colluding tone, though her slight pout suggested she’d very much like to know more.</p><p>Which made Ichigo think of something. ‘We could exchange secrets,’ he proposed, hunching over the coffee table and whispering as well, though not low enough to keep her father out of their talk. </p><p>Himawari was a smart girl, so she understood what he meant immediately. Pushing back her sleeves, she held out her wrists to him.</p><p>‘I like them better now,’ she said in a shy voice, throwing an unsure glance at her father. ‘They looked dead before.’</p><p>Leaf-like fingers were extending towards her palm, still only outlines and not fully filled shapes - that would come later, if the marks kept progressing the same way over the next few days and weeks. </p><p>‘The ones on her ankles are gone,’ his father chirped, looking again a bit awkward.</p><p>Both Himawari’s parents probably thought they had wasted his time with their silly questions and fears. </p><p>‘How do you feel about that?’ Ichigo asked their daughter directly, remembering her fondness for the marks. </p><p>‘A bit sad,’ the girl answered, banging her feet in the air. ‘But not much. Will those keep growing?’</p><p>‘I can’t know for sure. It’s your flowers,’ Ichigo pointed out. </p><p>The spidery look of the stems and what could be petals were not enough to know which one or ones it could be, if they ever bloomed. The fact that the marks had concentrated themselves on her hands and started to get colors meant that whatever was on Himawari’s mind was resolving itself, little by little, and this was a very encouraging step.</p><p>‘It’s your turn, now,’ she reminded him excitedly, bouncing on her seat as she immediately asked, ‘did you kiss already?’</p><p>‘I kissed him <em>first</em>,’ Ichigo replied in a heartbeat, actually feeling quite proud about it. </p><p>He felt winded, almost breathless again at the memory of that kiss - the same hotness that had followed him and clung to his skin during the last two days came again, haunting him all the same. </p><p>‘That’s good!’ Himawari said, visibly satisfied with the answer he had given her. </p><p>It was a good thing that Yoruichi wasn’t here today, in the end: she would have laughed really hard at that, and made a snide remark about his lack of sexual activities with Grimmjow. </p><p>They chatted some more about her school, her days and her friends, until it was time to go - she made him promised to tell her everything about his new boyfriend and all of his flowers, and Ichigo couldn’t really refuse her that. He returned Himawari’s endearing goodbye waves when she left with her father, and got a bit distracted by how the leaves on her wrists caught the light. Her pink umbrella had cute dog ears on either side, and she had insisted on using it even though the rain was now only a light drizzle. </p><p>They were nearly at the end of the walkway when Ichigo heard the girl’s loud whisper.</p><p>‘Look, Dad!’ Himawari said, indiscreet and spontaneous as kids her age tended to be, ‘He has <em>blue </em>hair!’</p><p>That, however, turned his fond smile into a hopeful one - Ichigo leaned on the doorway, just out of the rain’s reach, and watched the sun play tricks on the droplets of water, watched it cast little rainbows all over the air and sky. Grimmjow came into view, one hand deep in his jean’s pocket and the other combing through his hair; he looked as if he was soaked to the bone, as if he had walked to come here and meet him. The rain had tangled his blue hair, plastered it to his forehead and neck, and even though the clothes of his gigai were just as damp and the light was uneven - he looked at peace, and for a second it was like watching a deer come out of the forest, majestic and almost divine. </p><p>The world stilled around them both when Grimmjow finally turned towards Ichigo and crossed the distance between them in long, lazy strides; he looked unbothered, serene, an unstoppable force even as his rain-cold fingers pushed Ichigo’s chin up, up until it was high enough for their lips to meet. </p><p>‘Missed me?’ Grimmjow breathed against his lips, pressing another kiss there for good measure, raindrops falling from his hair and unto Ichigo’s eyelids and cheeks; he pressed his palm against the wet fabric of his shirt, pushing him away a little, but Grimmjow’s mouth followed his still. </p><p>‘You’re wet.’</p><p>‘Yeah,’ the Espada replied, unbothered, moving Ichigo’s hand to his lips.</p><p>It had to be the left one - Ichigo’s heart fluttered a little at that thought, at how easy this could all be, coming together, kissing each other breathless under the rainsong of June. It’d not been three full days yet, but it felt like three hundred, and more; Grimmjow nudged him inside a little, his cold fingertips brushing against his throat, pushing the collar of his shirt out of the way. </p><p>The moment was bit ruined by Grimmjow’s loud sneeze, which made Ichigo burst into joyful laughter. ‘That’s what you get for walking in the rain,’ he said pointedly, pushing gently into Grimmjow’s cheek with his index finger. </p><p>There was no jaw of bone there, which made it a bit weird but also a bit funny; Urahara must have provided him with a body, which made Ichigo wonder if he should expect his other guests to show up corporeal instead of phantomatic.</p><p>‘Meatsuits are weird,’ Grimmjow grumbled as he was led inside, letting Ichigo close the door behind them. He looked around for a second or two, and almost immediately stirred towards the food. </p><p>‘I don’t have any,’ Ichigo said before the Espada could ask.</p><p>Grimmjow let out a small, ‘Tch’, before reaching out for Ichigo again; his palm was cold where their hands touched, and Ichigo’s wild train of thoughts went, <em>that’s it, that’s the thing, we are doing this</em> -</p><p>Grimmjow sneezed again. ‘Fuck <em>that</em>,’ he complained again, crowding Ichigo’s space.</p><p>‘Grab an umbrella next time,’ he suggested, trying not to get overly distracted by the heady scent of Grimmjow mingling with the softer fragrance of rain. </p><p>Ichigo led the way towards the small staircase at the back of his office, hidden behind a door and protected from wandering spirits by a barrier he had put there himself, under the watchful gaze of Yoruichi. She had insisted upon teaching him the basics and then some, forgoing any theoretical training - he had complained a little about it, and she had quickly shut him up: ‘You wanna take your chances with theory when you can’t do anything by the book? <em>Really</em>?’</p><p>‘Take off your shoes,’ Ichigo told Grimmjow, already going to the bathroom to grab a clean towel. </p><p>Maybe they’d eat something after. </p><p>Maybe they’d - Ichigo really needed to breathe a little. So he just threw the towel at Grimmjow’s face, not entirely sure this would buy him enough time to stop thinking about Grimmjow in his small living-room-slash-kitchen, to stop his mind going a mile a minute because, because this is it.</p><p><em>I am getting what I want</em>, Ichigo slowly realized, holding his breath for a bit; <em>everything, and then some</em>, he decided when Grimmjow’s face emerged from the folds of the towel, looking slightly annoyed. </p><p>‘What was that for,’ he groaned, and a raindrop fell from the tips of his blue hair; another made the race along his temple and all the way down to his jaw before pooling at his chin, and all Ichigo could think of was how much he wanted to kiss him. </p><p>‘Shut up,’ he said, uneasy, but nonetheless reaching for the towel on each side of Grimmjow’s face; Ichigo pressed an open-mouthed kiss against his lips, unhurried and true.</p><p>He wished never to get tired of this, ever; let the flowers mean <em>him</em>, he thought as Grimmjow’s palms settled on his back, one between his shoulder blades and the other just a bit lower. His still-damp hands were warmer now, and soon he was pressing them closer, close enough for his wet clothes to soak Ichigo’s as well -</p><p>‘Come on,’ Grimmjow half-whined, half-groaned when they parted, moving his mouth to Ichigo’s exposed throat instead. </p><p>‘Dry yourself off first,’ Ichigo said with a playful wink, stepping towards the kitchen. </p><p>He should make them tea. Right? Something warm, obviously - Ichigo let out a startled yelped and turned back towards the Espada.</p><p>‘Did you just- <em>don’t </em>answer that,’ Ichigo mumbled as Grimmjow started laughing. </p><p>‘What? Nobody ever smacked your ass, Ichigo?’</p><p>The use of his name made his heart flutter, even now; it made his insides warmer, and something started burning fiercely in the pit of his stomach. It made him want all sort of things - it made him fifteen and awkward again, wondering if this silly teenage crush he had would ever die out. Turned out it didn’t, not really.</p><p>Now, what to make of this?</p><p>‘Remove your jacket,’ he heard himself <em>demand </em>instead of answering, his voice clear but his mind a haze he couldn’t clearly navigate just yet.</p><p>Grimmjow’s eyes turned a playful shade of blue, but he didn’t hesitate long: he obeyed, and shed it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled wet pile. </p><p>‘Anything else?’ He asked in a musky tone, and Ichigo found himself about to formulate other requests, some unrelated to clothing and some too related to clothing not to speak his mind. </p><p>‘Everything else,’ Ichigo forced himself not to sigh, not to be too breathless, but his voice had a throaty undertone to it that did nothing to hide where exactly his thoughts had gone.</p><p>He backed into the wall when Grimmjow came closer, and closer again; he was a lot less intimidated by all this than Ichigo was, which made him wonder if the Espada had done such things before. </p><p>‘You know how this goes,’ Grimmjow said in an almost questioning tone, leaning on his forearm right by Ichigo’s head, his eyes an azure color so vivid it was hard not to get lost in it. The sunflowers on his skin shone brightly, their golden hue all the more alive in the low light. </p><p>‘I’m not fifteen anymore,’ Ichigo replied, as if this could explain everything, from the desire pooling deep inside him to his swollen lips, his cocky smile. ‘So, yeah. I <em>know </em>how this goes.’</p><p>He wanted to tell him <em>I’ve sung this song before</em>, but only pressed a wet kiss to his jaw, with just a hint of tongue; it was so, so tempting to tell him now that <em>yes, I touched myself thinking about this</em>, and yet-</p><p>‘You sure of that,’ Grimmjow said, taunting, breathless and a little hungrily, his nails digging into the meat of his hip, and the fingers of his other hand, the sunflower one, hooked in the waistband of his pants. </p><p>Instead of answering, Ichigo guided that warm hand further down - he felt teeth sink into his skin as he did so, and let out a hollow, trembling breath himself. The buttons of his pants undid themselves as Grimmjow cupped him through his underwear; Ichigo rolled his hips, all shame gone, head thrown back a little. </p><p>‘Quite sure, yeah,’ he exhaled slowly, as if breathing smoke; he could see small stars through his closed eyelids, entire galaxies forming and breaking by the second - he could come like this, to the slow rub of Grimmjow’s palm on his dick, to the teeth at his throat. In a way, he had already -</p><p>There was too much tongue and a shy, coppery hint of blood on Grimmjow’s lips when he captured Ichigo’s mouth again - it didn’t last long, as Grimmjow withdrew his hands altogether, earning a protesting moan from Ichigo.</p><p>‘I’m making you beg for it,’ Ichigo threatened him when the corners of Grimmjow’s mouth curled upwards. </p><p>‘Promises,’ Grimmjow replied in a mocking tone, hoisting him up; his palms were warm against Ichigo’s ass, and their mouths were close enough that they could taste each other’s breath. </p><p>‘Fuck you,’ Ichigo groaned right back at him, hooking his legs around his waist, locking his arms around his neck; for a gleeful second there was only the wild beating of his heart feeling the deep silence of his mind, and it felt good not to be anything else than <em>Ichigo</em>, for once.</p><p>‘<em>Promises</em>,’ Grimmjow repeated again, insistent, staring pointedly into his golden eyes. </p><p>Ichigo cocked an unimpressed eyebrow at him. ‘You sure of that,’ he answered mockingly, mimicking his tone in a deeper, more seductive voice. ‘My bed is that way,’ Ichigo added when Grimmjow remained immobile, unmoving, as if still processing whatever he had heard. </p><p>But then he sneezed, and they both laughed; outside, the rain had resumed its usual hellish downpour and the droplets made funny sounds against the glass door that led to Ichigo’s balcony. </p><p>‘Let’s get you warm first,’ Ichigo offered with a fond smile, ruffling Grimmjow’s damp hair away from his azure eyes. </p><p>.</p><p>‘Tell me about yours. And mine,’ Grimmjow demanded, his neck slightly arched back so his eyes could meet Ichigo’s. </p><p>He was still wearing most of his <em>very </em>damp clothes, and once in a while, a shiver made his way up his spine. He was sitting on the floor, his cheek resting against Ichigo’s thigh who was sitting on his bed, Grimmjow’s face right next to his knee - his blue hair was mostly dry by now, and he seemed content to just stay there. </p><p>Ichigo paused, and looked at the hand that was combing through Grimmjow’s locks. ‘Yours are prettier,’ he said, wishing he could sound funny instead of professional; wishing he could make this casual and not overly meaningful.</p><p>Sometimes, Ichigo wanted to know nothing at all again, so that he could have remained blissfully ignorant of all the hidden meanings and symbols, of all the flower names gracing his hands, his ribcage and his thighs. He might have run their descriptions through the Internet, looked for advice on how to conceal them with those girl products Inoue and Tatsuki used sometimes. It had never quite worked - the colors and shapes shone through, no matter how hard you tried. So was there even a point in not telling Grimmjow?</p><p>‘Which ones?’ Ichigo asked, a little sheepishly, his eyes still focused on the peonies and the yarrow; showing Grimmjow his sketchbook sounded like a good idea, for a second or two, before Ichigo realized how much of his heart was written and drawn on those pages. He had told him almost everything already, if not for the hidden ones.</p><p>Grimmjow had turned towards him, his profile outlined by the low light of his room; he had pushed the cup out of reach, and it laid there abandoned on the wooden floor, still half-full, still steaming. </p><p>‘Where?’</p><p>Ichigo sighed, and it felt awkward to meet Grimmjow’s piercing blue gaze - so he just kept his eyes on the cup. ‘Not everywhere,’ he said, shrugging, but still he couldn’t help but push the sleeves of his shirt lower. Hiding them a little.</p><p>Cool fingertips brushed again his skin, reminding Ichigo where his attention should be. ‘Show me again,’ Grimmjow asked, curious but not demanding, and in his mouth, this was as much a question as it was a request - <em>I already wear it all on my hands</em>, Ichigo wanted to reply, but all that came out of his mouth was an easy <em>yes</em>, an obvious <em>okay, sure</em>.</p><p>They ended up facing each other, cross-legged on the bed and keeping their voices low like kids sharing secrets they shouldn’t know; Ichigo told him of the cherry blossom over his liver, how it bloomed and itched every year; of the colorful garland that started at his right shoulder with pink peonies for honor and his own sunflowers keeping track of whatever bright star they had decided to follow. </p><p>‘During the day they follow the course of the sun, through the sky,’ Ichigo explained, wondering what sun Grimmjow’s followed. ‘The white ones - it’s heather,’ he added, tracing a straight line between a point just under his shoulder and right to his elbow, over the crisp fabric of his shirt. </p><p>Ichigo had removed his socks, and showed him again the red spider lilies sprouting over his feet, too, their scarlet stems reaching higher and higher every time he looked at them; he purposefully ignored his left hand, unsure of what to say about it. <em>The left hand of love</em>, Yuzu had decided to call it, wonder filling her voice. But Grimmjow’s gaze was fixed on his collarbone, in the same way it had been all those days ago, asking the same silent, relentless question. </p><p>‘You first,’ Ichigo answered in a daring tone, wondering how this would go. </p><p>The gigai had not muted the outworldly shine of the flower marks, nor had it removed the long scar over Grimmjow’s torso - seeing it up close, it brought back the vivid memory of Grimmjow’s words, <em>to remember you</em>, and the many flowers lining it made it even clearer that nobody was allowed to forget exactly <em>who </em>had put it there.</p><p><em>Me</em>, Ichigo thought, brushing his knuckles against the pink and white skin, the scar tissue impossibly soft against his skin; and he couldn’t stop his mind fast enough, couldn’t stop it from calculating angles and colors, from thinking pansy for remembrance and Peruvian lilies for friendship and - maybe? - prosperity. He saw them all, so close to this heart that should have been hollow but seemed so full, and felt like he was about to die and break into a thousand million pieces. </p><p>‘Since <em>when</em>?’ Did he hear himself ask in disbelief, his voice trembling and unsure; the roots of <em>them </em>was not in Ichigo’s blue hand but in Grimmjow’s old scar, in those little dots of white and orange - in the rainflowers that hovered near its sharp edges. </p><p><em>I like you back</em>, Ichigo finally understood, feeling empty and too full at the same time.</p><p>‘Fucking long enough,’ Grimmjow groaned, his cheekbones looking a little pink in the lamplight, a little red in the beginning of the night.  </p><p>He wore his heart on his sleeve, in small but brilliant touches; in all the reds and golds; and in a handful of moments it all came together, that the rainflowers meant requited love as much as they meant <em>him</em>, Ichigo, as well as the sunflowers and their lofty ideals that mirrored his own.</p><p>His breath caught in his throat. ‘I’m such a fucking idiot...’ </p><p>He had said it all in one exhale, willing the long string of words out, letting himself hunch forward until his forehead was pressed in the hollow space between Grimmjow’s right shoulder and collarbone.</p><p>Maybe <em>love </em>was too strong a word for what he felt, and there was none of the usual things his sisters and friends and the whole fucking <em>world </em>had warned him about; those obvious signs nobody had exact words for but felt all the same. Like the fabled butterflies taking flight in the pit of your stomach. The kind of evidence Ichigo had never quite believed in, choosing instead to place his faith in the flitting uncertainty of the flower marks.</p><p>‘Yeah, I’ve been warned about that,’ Grimmjow muttered, that half-laugh making his chest rumble and his heart beat a little faster under Ichigo’s ear. ‘That you’d be a little slow…’</p><p>But still he pressed his cheek against Ichigo’s hair, and that soft weight felt like a crown, one made of flesh and bones. </p><p>‘A little slow, uh,’ Ichigo mused. Hiding his smile against the damp fabric of Grimmjow’s shirt, he let his mind race a little, a mile a minute, a few light years a second. </p><p>But maybe - <em>maybe </em>love was exactly what this was. </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>